A Dream of Dragons
by Rezeren
Summary: Slight AU. In which the ability to share dreams with each other is a gift that has run through the blood of the dragon for centuries, and two of the last surviving Targaryen children find each other through these means. Growing up, leading their own separate lives on opposite sides of the world, Jon and Dany find solace in a small place only they can find. Jonerys.
1. Under the Lemon Tree

**I**

 **UNDER THE LEMON TREE**

* * *

 **JON**

* * *

Jon first meets the little girl when he is four.

The small garden he finds himself in when he opens his eyes reminds him quite a bit of the godswood, and the great weirwood tree that Father comes to sit under for long periods of time each day. He truly believes it to be the small, sacred wood at first glance, and worries slightly. He doesn't know what sacred means, but he does know that he ought not to be disturbing the godswood. Maester Luwin says it's no place for small children, unless they behave. Behaving means not running around at all, and sitting very still and very quietly. Jon doesn't like the thought of that. He's better at it than Robb, but he still finds it incredibly dull. Fortunately, Father doesn't make him come with him, and so Jon doesn't particularly know the godswood all too well.

At first he is concerned, because if anyone finds him he'll be in trouble; he and Robb aren't supposed to go into the godswood by themselves. Even if he does stand very still and makes no noise at all, he shouldn't be here.

But he quickly notices how different it is. While the godswood is quite dark and a little scary, due to all the trees being pressed ominously closely together, this garden is light and he can easily see a clear blue sky when he looks up. The godswood, set apart from the heated walls of Winterfell, is cold. This garden is very warm indeed, with the sun up above glaring down on his skin. Jon almost feels silly in his bedchamber tunic, as thin as it may be.

If this isn't the godswood, then perhaps no one will mind if he runs around. The garden isn't very big, but it's large enough for a small boy to play in. There's are bushes pressed against the yellow, stony walls, a funny looking tree that smells very sour that he might be able to climb, a small pond at the foot of the tree, and steps he can jump up and down on, leading up towards a red door. Behind the door there must be a house. The building is quite large, but nowhere near as big as a single tower at Winterfell, let along the whole castle. Like the garden walls, the stone is yellow and even cream in some places. It's very different from Winterfell's grey, granite walls. Jon decides he likes it.

There's birdsong; not the sound of ravens cawing, like Jon often hears when the the birds come to and from the castle with their scrolls, nor the deep hoot of the owls he sometimes hears at night. These sounds are more like the birds he hears in the morning, chirping in the trees and fluttering past the castle windows. He spots a bright green one on a low hanging branch of the strange tree. It whistles gently in its pretty little song and takes to the sky, soaring up, up, up, and over the house.

Jon can hardly make to follow it, what with the house and the tall walls being in the way, but he still tries. He climbs up the steps towards the red door and reaches up to grasp its dark, wooden handle. When his fingers are mere inches from it, a loud, muffled shriek of rage comes from somewhere inside the house.

'You've done it- _you've done it._ You've woken it, sweet sister. Do you know what that means? _Do you?'_

It's a boy's voice, an older boy. Jon freezes, instantly reminded of the cook's irate voice when he and Robb steal little cakes from the kitchens. Somehow, this boy sounds far angrier.

'Where are you? _Where are you?'_ the voice howls, high pitched with fury. 'You have woken the dragon, sister!'

He's looking for his sister. Jon has a sister too, a little babe by the name of Sansa. He can't imagine shouting at her like that. He doesn't believe he could ever be so angry at her, or at anyone, the way the older boy on the other side of the door is with his sister.

The next time the voice speaks up, it sounds quieter. The owner of the voice hasn't calmed down, but he is somewhere further away. Jon wonders if it might be safe to go inside the house. Maybe he should help look for the other boy's sister; after all, he wouldn't like it very much if little Sansa went missing, or Robb. On the other hand, he doesn't really want to meet the angry boy inside the house; he doesn't sound very nice at all. But he isn't as close as he was before, and maybe, if Jon is as quiet as he and Robb have to be when they sneak into the kitchens, he won't get caught.

In the end, curiosity wins over, and Jon reaches out for the door handle again.

'No!' a small voice calls out from behind him.

Jon turns around with a little jump. From behind the tree, stepping out beside the edge of the pond comes a pale girl in a lilac dress, watching him in alarm. She says something else in words Jon doesn't understand, and when he squints in confusion, she continues with words he recognises.

'You can't open the door,' the girl says, folding her arms. 'You mustn't.'

She is young, even smaller than Jon, though not by much. Jon would likely reply if he could, only he never really talks to other children beside Robb, and he is rather distracted by… _her._

He's never seen anyone who looks like this girl before. Until now, the strangest person Jon has ever seen is Lady Stark, who people say is from the south. Unlike everyone else, Lady's Stark's hair is red. Robb and even baby Sansa, who is just starting to grow a mop of hair on her small head, both share their mother's likeness to a degree.

Red hair, hair like fire, has always seemed strange and somewhat fascinating to Jon, but Lady Stark doesn't like it when he stares at her. Her face will go stiff and tight, and the look in her eyes scares Jon enough to look away instantly. She doesn't ever do it with Robb, however. But then, Robb is allowed to do things with Lady Stark that Jon isn't. Robb is allowed to run to her and be swept up in her arms and kissed on the forehead. Robb is allowed to chatter away to her about the games he likes to play and about all the things he has seen and done in a day. Robb is allowed to call her _Mother._ Jon isn't supposed to do any of these things. He is supposed to stay out of her way and refer to her as Lady Stark and to not ask questions. No one has ever told him these things in so many words, but he already knows, even if he doesn't really know _why._

Lady Stark's hair is certainly pretty, Jon decides, but it pales in comparison to the _girl's_ hair.

It just about reaches her shoulders in smooth, silvery gold locks, so light that it almost seems white. Jon has seen white hair before on the heads of the elderly, but this is something else entirely. The girl is far from old and the way the sunlight gleams off it when she steps out from the shadow of the tree shines in away Jon has never seen before.

'The door has to stay closed,' the girl says. Her voice wobbles when she speaks, like she's uncertain of her own words.

'Why?' Jon finally manages to say.

The girl peers behind him at the red door, then takes a tentative step forwards. She begins speaking in another tongue again, before words Jon knows slip out in the same breath. 'I close it at night,' she says, but although Jon understands the what she is saying now, he is still puzzled. It's not night, not even close- even if he is wearing his bedchamber clothes.

When the girl reaches the steps, she climbs up rather slowly, almost as if she's hesitant to come any closer to him. Jon is confused, until he wonders if maybe she's afraid of the door, not him. Or rather, what's behind the door.

It doesn't occur to him that she is the little sister the boy inside the house is looking for. He is too young to put it together properly, and he is still rather mesmerised by her hair.

She, too, seems to be a little too young to ask an obvious question, such as why and how Jon is in her garden. She merely stares at him when she reaches the top of the steps, and he stares right back.

'It's bad inside,' she says, 'so the door is closed.'

'Oh,' Jon says, not really understanding at all.

Just then, another angry screech can be heard inside the house, loud once more, and the girl flinches. Before Jon can try to say anything else, the girl reaches out with a small, pale hand and grabs his own, quickly pulling him down the steps toward the sour tree, dodging the edges of the pond. The two children crouch down in the spot where the girl must have been hiding before, and she slowly reaches up with her free hand to press a thin forefinger to her lips. Her other hand is still holding Jon's.

'Is this a game?' Jon asks. This might be like a game he and Robb play, where one of them hides and the other has to try and find him.

The girl shakes her head, her eyes wide. Now that she's closer than ever, Jon can see that her eyes, a bright purple, are just as strange as her hair. He has never seen anyone with eyes like this before. Once again, the strangest ones he has ever seen until now are the blue eyes of Lady Stark, Robb and baby Sansa.

'Then… what is it?' Jon asks, tilting his head.

The girl stares at the grass beneath them both. 'Bad,' she whispers, then says some more words that don't make sense. He doesn't know what they mean, but they sound just as soft and quiet as the first word.

'Oh,' Jon says again. He wonders why the boy in the house is so angry.

As the older boy continues to rage and rant, the girl seems to shrink, sinking lower and lower until she's practically curled up on the ground.

'Ser Willem makes him stop,' she says.

'There's a knight living here?' Jon asks. The only knight he knows well is Ser Rodrik, the man who lets Robb and Jon train with wooden swords. They aren't really training, though, not yet. They simply play. Jon enjoys it very much. He thinks to ask the girl if she likes doing it as well, before remembering that girls aren't supposed to wield swords.

But she's not like any girl he's ever seen before. This _place_ isn't like anything he's ever seen before.

The girl nods. 'Ser Willem is nice. I like him. He can always make Vis stop shouting.'

'Sometimes the cook shouts at me. When I take food.'

The girl stares at him. 'You steal food?'

Jon shrugs. 'It's a game. Me and Robb play. He's my brother. Do you like playing games?'

Slowly, the girl pushes herself up from the grass, so she's eye level with him. 'I don't know any games,' she confesses.

Jon tries to think of a good one to teach her. 'We play one that's a bit like this,' he says. 'One of us hides, and the other tries to find him.'

'Why?'

'For fun.'

'It's not… scary?'

Jon shakes his head. 'No. It's not meant to be.'

The girl leans around the trunk of the tree slightly, so she can peek at the house. 'What happens when you get caught?'

'We swap. He hides next, and I try to find him.'

'He doesn't do bad things when he finds you?'

'Robb doesn't do bad things. He's my brother. We're just playing.' Jon doesn't even understand what the girl means by _bad things._

She is silent for a little while, her eyes still on the house. The angry cries from inside have faded once more, and she seems a little happier for it. She finally turns back to Jon and says, 'I don't think he can get me here. I'm safer when I sleep. But I'm still scared.'

Despite the heat, Jon's skin feels a little chilly, like it does when he's outside in the training yard at Winterfell and there's a large gust of wind. 'What does he want to do to you?' he asks, wondering if the angry boy will come out here and find them both. He doesn't want the boy to catch him or the girl. She seems even more concerned than he is. He's never seen anyone scared like this before- not even he or Robb, when they're listening to Old Nan's tales of the Long Night.

The girl begins fidgeting with the folds of her dress. 'He likes to shout. Sometimes he grabs me, but Ser Willem comes and stops him.'

'Why's he angry?'

The girl shivers and mumbles something in that strange tongue again, before adding, 'I woke the dragon.'

Jon's eyes widen. 'There's a dragon here? Truly?'

'No,' the girl says hesitantly. 'I don't think so.'

But she _said_ she had woken one. Jon frowns, wondering if he should ask more about it, but the girl is talking again.

'I don't want to wake up,' she says. 'He can get me when I'm awake.'

The girl has said quite a lot of peculiar and confusing things already, and Jon decides that he wants things to make sense. 'But you're not sleeping,' he says. 'You're awake. Like me.'

The girl looks at him strangely. 'It's night,' she says. 'I like it best like this. When I'm asleep.'

'But it's _not_ night,' Jon says, feeling a little frustrated. He points up between the leaves of the tree at the sky.

The girl's gaze follows the gesture and her purple eyes fix on the sky. She stares up at it with mild bewilderment, as if she is only just noticing that it is broad daylight. 'It can be day,' she says eventually. 'And it can be the garden. It can be how I like.'

'What can?'

'My dream.'

Jon opens his mouth to say more, but as he watches the sky, he notices that the sun has already disappeared from view and streaks of orange and red are trickling across it. After almost no time at all, they fade and morph into a dark blue canvas that covers the whole sky, until it eventually fades to black completely. Little dots of shining lights begin to well in various spots across the night sky, until it is full of stars.

'There,' the girl says. 'Now it's night.'

Jon's mouth is dangling open in astonishment. He looks back at the girl again, only to find that she's now bathed in shadows and he can barely make out her face. Nevertheless, he can make out those purple eyes looking back at him.

'Are you magic?' Jon whispers. Is she like the sorcerers in Old Nan's stories? She made it turn from day to night in a matter of _seconds_.

The girl ponders the question for a second, like she's unsure of the answer. 'I don't think so,' she says. 'I can only do that when I dream.'

Once again, Jon is terribly confused. This isn't her dream. It can't be. He's here, and he's awake. He must be.

The girl gets to her feet and ventures out from under the tree, as if she has forgotten how afraid she is of the house. Perhaps she feels safer in the darkness, with less of a chance of being spotted. She is, however, still incredibly noticeable, especially when she moves into the moonlight. She is the palest person Jon has ever seen. In a daze, he gets up and follows her.

The dark isn't as frightening as it usually is, perhaps because it isn't truly that dark. The house is lit up, and over the walls of garden, Jon can make out the faint glows of scattered lights, both nearby and in the distance. Maybe there are lots of other houses nearby, all with pretty gardens just like this one. Jon wonders if each one has angry older boys inside, and strange girls with silvery gold hair and purple eyes, who sometimes say strange words and hide under trees outside.

The girl is staring up at the sky, a small smile on her face. She must like the stars. Jon does too. He and Robb often sneak out at night, when they're supposed to be abed and asleep, to play another game in which they make out patterns and shapes in the stars.

Maybe Jon should teach it to the girl. She'll likely prefer it to the hiding game.

When she finally turns back to him, she says, 'I'm Dany.'

'I'm Jon,' he replies.

And somehow, at this very moment, with no further knowledge of each other or of anything yet to come, this is all that matters to either of them.

* * *

 **My GoT Tumblr: _jonathansnowflake . tumblr . com_**

 **About three years ago, I was prone to starting each one of my A/Ns with 'I should not be posting another fic' or something along those lines. Back then, I had several regularly updated stories on the go all at once and one would think I was more of a mess back then. And yet, I handled writing and posting fics so much better back then when I do these days. I miss how I never actually had everything planned out (which seemed as if it should have been irresponsible and unorthodox, but always worked out for me) and I miss the times when I would spontaneously post fics with like ten others on the go. I was more motivated than ever because I had so much to work with.**

 **I'm trying to relight that old spark, tbh.**

 **So here we go. Another spontaneous fic, and my second (and definitely not last) _Game of Thrones_ one. What I've discovered so far with this show is that when I write for it, I like writing about the characters as kids. Like, a lot. My other fic is all about Jon and Arya's childhood. This one will of course be about Jon and Dany, and will show them growing up, up until and during the main events of the show. Plot-wise (aside from Jon and Dany being childhood friends and having known each other since they were very small), this should be fairly canon-compliant. All the main events that occur to the other characters, and probably all the main ones that Jon and Dany experience, will still happen. All this will is offer a whole other story in these special dreams they share, and will of course be the main focus.**

 **The idea for the dreams itself, was all because I was musing over what I could write and I quite liked the idea of the Targaryens having other unique abilities, besides being able to bond with and ride dragons, and occasionally survive fires. So I went: _hey. What if the Targaryens could share super weird, magical, telepathic dreams with each other?_ And thus, this story was born.**

 **There will be eventual Jonerys. A rather slow burn, I expect (they're starting out as little kids, after all), but they'll grow up and get there in the end. As children, they don't understand a lot of what they perceive. Dany's 'other tongue', for instance, is High Valyrian. It's as natural to her as the Common Tongue, and growing up in the multilingual Braavos, while not to mention having an older brother who must insist upon her learning it, means that at such a young age, she often mixes the two languages together without meaning to. And yeah. It's the house with the red door and the lemon tree from the books. I'm incredibly emo about it. She always thought of it as the closest thing she'd ever known to home, and so therefore it's naturally become a short of happy place for her to use in her dreams with Jon.**

 **You'd at least think my days of long, rambling A/Ns were over, but they never seemed to die lmao.**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading, and remember to review!**


	2. Graced by Snow

**II**

 **GRACED BY SNOW**

* * *

 **DAENERYS**

* * *

The boy is almost as natural as everything else in her special little world, and soon enough Dany can't even recall her dreams from before he started coming.

The garden in her dream is identical to the real one she knows, the one just outside her bedroom window. When she is awake, however, she is only allowed to play in it on occasion. Viserys doesn't like it when she runs out of his sight, and he prefers to stay in the house. Ser Willem will often let her play outside, but there are always servants watching her, telling her that she mustn't stand too close to the pond lest she falls in, and that she shouldn't roll around on the grass and spoil her dresses.

In the dream garden, there are no servants to tell her what to do. She can go as close to the pond as she wishes, and roll around on the grass all she likes. She can be alone if she wants to- well, almost. She can't quite make Viserys go away, not always. Sometimes, if the day has been good, she can find a quiet, peaceful dream when she goes to sleep. Often, however, Viserys's shouting and curses from the day will follow her into her dream, and he will be there, inside the house. She daren't go near it when she hears his voice inside.

She wouldn't mind it if he were here, most of the time. Dany loves Viserys. He is her big brother, and he is all she has in this world. At least, that's how Viserys puts it. 'We only have each other now, sweet sister,' he will tell her sometimes, often when it is time for bed and Viserys is bidding her goodnight.

'Ser Willem?' Dany asked once, unsure as to why Viserys seemed to have forgotten the kindly old knight who takes care of them.

Viserys had smiled. It had been a nice smile, a warm one, not the _other_ smile, the cold one he wears sometimes when his eyes are as wide as can be and he talks non-stop about the Seven Kingdoms, about his birthright. 'Indeed, Dany, we have Ser Willem. But we are the last of our family. Of the Targaryen dynasty. We are what is left.'

Dany didn't understand much of what he said, but she liked that he stayed happy. Oftentimes, talking of their family would take Viserys's smile away and he would instead grow angry. But he was good that night. He had kissed her on the forehead, something he never does when he is angry, and had wished her good dreams.

She had had a good dream that night, in her small garden. She had spotted little red fish in the pond, identical to the ones she saw in in a bucket at a stall when Ser Willem had taken her out to the marketplace a few days before. She had dipped her hand in and tried to touch them, but they were all too quick and swam away.

The dream was so pleasant, so perfect, that Dany had thought about running up to the red door to find Viserys. Surely he'd love it, just as she did. But she knew that Viserys wouldn't be on the other side of the door. He is only ever there when he is angry. When she doesn't want him there.

He is her brother, but she doesn't always want him in her dreams. She knows she ought not to wish him gone, but her dreams are special. And safe. She'd much rather he be there after good days, where he'll sit with her and teach her High Valyrian, and kiss her on the head when it is time for bed. Not when it's been a bad day, full of cursing and shouting and anger. She doesn't like it when Viserys is like that. It scares her. _He_ scares her. And yet, it is at times like this when he seems to find his way into her little world, a world she would love to share with him on all the good days. He always stays in the house, never venturing out to come find her.

In the garden with the pond and the lemon tree, she has her solitude. Or rather, she did have complete seclusion- until the boy started coming.

Jon is a little bit bigger than her, with short, dark hair and grey eyes. He is quieter than her, and far more so than the children Dany often hears outside on the street, running around and giggling. He does like to play games, however. Dany doesn't really understand them at first, but Jon explains them well. He isn't like Viserys, who sometimes grows irritable when Dany gets a word wrong during her High Valyrian lessons, or when she accidentally knocks something over or breaks anything. Jon is patient. He tells her all about the games he and his brother Robb play, where they pretend to be knights and battle against each other. He never tells her stories about Robb ever shouting at him, or grabbing him if he's been bad. Jon says Robb is nice, that he is his friend as well as his brother.

Dany wonders if she and Viserys are friends too. She's certain they must be, because most of the time things are good between them. But would a friend ever wake the dragon and upset the other? Perhaps this is why Viserys sometimes gets angry with her. Maybe he thinks she isn't a very good friend.

She'll have to try better, she decides one night in her dream garden, as she waits for Jon to arrive. His presence is a certainty now, as real and as important as everything else she expects of her dreams. She has no real idea of how long it's been since he started coming, only that she doesn't miss how it was before. She used to like being alone in her little world, at least on the nights after a bad day; but strangely, she doesn't mind Jon being here. Perhaps it's because Jon doesn't ever shout at her like Viserys, or tell her what to do like the servants. Jon even teaches her some of his favourite games, such as making patterns in the stars and hiding from each other without any shouting, unlike when she hides from Viserys. He even points out that she has already come up with a game of her own, when she shows him the little red fish in the pond and how she tries to catch them. She enjoys his company, much like she enjoys being with Ser Willem. Unlike Ser Willem, however, Jon isn't old or slow. He is a child, just as she is, and Dany finds herself rather happy to share her garden with him. He is the one thing here that she can only find in her dream. Everything else in her world- the pond, the lemon tree, the red door- are always still here when she wakes up.

But Jon never is. He's always gone when she opens her eyes.

She searches for him, sometimes. Her mornings are often spent looking through the house, wondering if he might have hidden inside now that the night is over. But in the dreams, Jon doesn't care for the house. He hasn't done since Dany told him not to open the door, on the night they met. She likes that about him. He listened to her. He hid with her under the tree while Viserys raged inside.

She searches the garden too, as Jon is far more likely to be out here than inside the house. But she can never find him. It is only in her dreams when he comes back to her little world.

'I can't find you,' Dany tells him when he finally appears. He joins her on the steps where she is sitting, waiting for him.

Jon blinks. 'I'm right here.'

'No,' Dany continues. 'I mean when I wake up. You're not in the garden anymore.'

Jon is silent for a few seconds. 'I can't find you either,' he says quietly.

'Where do you go?' Dany asks.

'Home.'

'Where's that? Do you live nearby? Can I come and visit you? Ser Willem sometimes takes me outside. We go to the market. Do you go to the market?'

'No,' Jon says. He looks very confused. He often looks like that, Dany has noticed. 'I live at Winterfell.'

Dany squints at him. 'Is that in Braavos?'

Jon stares at her. 'What's Braavos?'

Dany is quite shocked. 'Here. This is Braavos. Viserys says it's a free city. There's nine of them. Did you know that?'

Jon shakes his head, looking more lost than ever. Dany finds it a little amusing. Maybe if Jon teaches her some more games, like the ones he has shown her so far, she can tell him about all the things she knows.

'There's Braavos,' Dany says, remembering how Ser Willem taught her to recite them. He hadn't snapped at her whenever she got one wrong like Viserys might, but had instead smiled and told her to start over. 'And Volantis… and there's Lys… and… and Myr…'

Jon's watches her in fascination as she continues. 'Penvos… no, Pen _tos,_ and… um… Q… Qoh…' Disappointment washes over her when she realises she can't remember the name properly, nor any of the following cities. Viserys wouldn't be impressed. Automatically, her head jerks round and she stares up at the red door at the top of the steps, half expecting her brother to emerge and scold her.

'How do you remember them?' Jon breathes, eyes wide in wonder. Dany almost shamefully tells him that she _can't_ remember them all, but she likes how amazed Jon is by her recital, and begins feeling rather pleased with herself.

'Ser Willem made me practise,' she says proudly. 'Do you remember any of them?'

'I don't know them,' Jon mumbles. 'I remember Winterfell, and the winter town, and White Harbour, and… and Last Hearth…'

Now Dany is the one feeling confused. She doesn't remember Ser Willem mentioning any of them. 'They're not any of the cities,' she points out.

Jon frowns. 'No. White Harbour is a city, I think. But Winterfell isn't. It's a castle.'

Dany is shocked. 'You live in a castle? With knights and feasts and tourneys?'

Jon smiles. 'Not really. There's Ser Rodrik- he trains me and Robb. And we sometimes have feasts, when people visit…'

Dany feels her stomach sink slightly. This Winterfell doesn't sound like the castles Ser Willem has told her all about, back in her homeland. Aren't there supposed to be tourneys and knights and great feasts a plenty?

'It's cold sometimes,' Jon continues. 'Because it's in the North. That's what Father says. But the walls are warm. And sometimes it snows. I saw it once. Father said it was a summer snow. He said it snows all the time in the winter.'

Dany's previous dismay is gone in an instant as she is filled with intrigue. 'What's snow?' she asks curiously.

'It's… it's all white,' Jon says. 'It falls from the sky like rain. But slower. And it's very cold. It's soft, so you can jump in it and throw it at people. Me and Robb did that. We made it a game. I want it to snow again,' he confesses. 'I liked playing in it.'

The coldest thing Dany knows is the water in the pond. She gets to her feet and runs off down the steps and across the grass towards the little pool. Tentatively, she dips her hand in, and squeals when the iciness washes over her skin. One of the red fish dodges her fingers and swerves off to the other side. 'Is it colder than this?' she calls up to Jon, giggling.

He approaches the pond and dips his own hand in, before retracting it quickly. He lets out a little chuckle. Dany has hardly ever heard him laugh before. Jon always seems a lot more serious than the all the children she hears out on the streets. Maybe that's what children are like, where he lives. His home sounds very different from hers, after all.

'Yes,' Jon says. 'It's colder. Especially when it's pressed against your face. Me and Robb were doing that to each other.'

Winterfell sounds incredibly exciting now. In all the stories she has heard from both her brother and Ser Willem, she has never heard any mention of snow. She wonders if Viserys might tell her about it if she asks him. He's older than both her and Jon, so maybe he knows more about these sorts of things. He's her brother, so he's supposed to be her friend. Just like Robb is to Jon.

* * *

She thinks he is going to be happy when she asks him.

She knows that sometimes he likes it when she asks questions; he'll proudly recount their family's history to her, speaking of many former kings and their queens, and best of all, the _dragons._ Dany loves these stories, more than anything, and she is always in awe of how much her brother knows. He must enjoy it too, because he lets her sit on his lap and his smile is always a good one.

But sometimes he doesn't like the questions. Sometimes the memories and the stories upset him. Not too long ago, he grew very angry at the mention of their mother, when Dany had asked why she wasn't here with them.

This had been the angriest Dany had ever seen him. It was already a bad day; Dany had heard him complaining loudly to Ser Willem about something earlier on. But in her excitement to find out about her mother, who had been a _queen,_ she had run up to her brother with her questions.

What she hadn't expected was his reaction. In his previous rages, he had sometimes grabbed her, so she would have to listen to all he had to say. But this time, it hadn't quite been enough. He had squeezed her arms, enough to make them hurt, and there were no traces of the warm smile he usually had for her when he told her stories.

'Never ask about Mother,' he had told her, his voice cold and quivering. 'She would be here, were it not for you.'

Dany had run off after that, and had cried for so long and so hard that her eyes stung painfully by the end and she could barely speak at all, for her throat ached so badly. She hadn't understood. Had she made her mother go away? Had she upset her, the way she always seemed to upset Viserys?

Ser Willem had finally found her, hiding under her bed. He had gathered her up in his arms and stroked her hair until her sobbing had ceased. 'Hush, sweetling,' he told her. 'Dry your eyes.'

'Where's Mother?' Dany had asked. 'Did I make her go?'

Ser Willem's face was sombre, but as kind as ever. 'Your mother is with the gods, little one. As is your father, your brother Rhaegar, his wife and their children.'

'Why are they with the gods? Can't they be with us?'

And so, Ser Willem had been the first to tell her about death. 'It happens to us all, my princess,' he had said. 'But to some, it happens too soon, I'm afraid. Your brother knows this. He remembers.'

'Why is it my fault?' Dany whispered.

'He was wrong to tell you so,' Ser Willem sighed. 'He is confused, Daenerys. He has lost a great deal, just as you have.'

The only difference, of course, was that Dany had never known anything before they lost it all. She hadn't said as much, but had instead simply rested her head against his chest and let him soothe her until her eyes had closed.

Viserys hates the mention of their mother. Dany knows that now. He isn't fond of talking about their father either. Although he holds an enormous amount of pride for their father and for all the former kings in their family, he always seems blinded by rage. Dany doesn't yet understand much of what happened, only that they no longer have a family, aside from each other, and that they can't go home. Viserys says there are bad people in the place that was once theirs.

'They took it from us, sister,' he will always say. 'But I shall take it back from them.'

Dany doesn't know who 'they' are. She is too afraid to ask.

But this must be an innocent enough question, surely? This question she now has for Viserys, when her eyes flutter open and the dream fades away, can't possibly be a bad one.

The house is quiet, which must mean Viserys is not angry. When he is, he lets everyone know. It isn't too often, fortunately, and his anger isn't always to do with her, but Dany chooses to stay out of his way on those occasions. It doesn't feel right, to see him like this. She years for the brother she knows better, the one who will hold her in his arms and tell her all about the dragons. When Viserys is angry, she sometimes seeks out sleep in the hopes of shutting out his voice, only it is difficult to drift off with all the loud noise. Besides, it is at times like this when he finds his way into her dreams, on the other side of the red door.

'Where is Winterfell?' Dany asks boldly, as they break fast this morning, sitting still the way he likes it. Viserys says it's respectful and dignified, two things he says a princess should be. 'Is it far away?'

Viserys leans forward on his chair, eyes fixed on her. He isn't smiling, not like he does sometimes when he's in a good mood. Dany shivers slightly.

Today is a bad day, she realises too late.

'What did you say, sister?' he asks softly. Too softly.

'W… Winterfell,' Dany stammers. 'It snows there,' she adds, when he continues only to stare at her without doing anything else.

'And you know of this… how? Has Ser Willem being telling you stories?'

'No.' Dany almost tells him the truth. She comes close, very close, to blurting it out. That she has made a friend called Jon, whom she only meets at night, who has told her all about his home, about Winterfell. But Viserys won't like that. He won't like that Dany has a friend. She isn't supposed to play with the children on the streets. She is supposed to stay in the house and the garden, and to do as she is told. And other people aren't supposed to come here. Only Ser Willem, Viserys, Dany and the servants are allowed here, and Jon isn't one of them.

Dany doesn't quite know how he'd manage it, but she's certain in this moment that, somehow, Viserys might make Jon go away. The thought frightens her.

'No?' Viserys echoes. 'Then where did you hear of it?'

Dany bows her head and stays silent.

'Daenerys,' Viserys says. 'Where did you hear of Winterfell? In a book?'

It is now that Dany decides to do something bad. 'Yes,' she lies, bottom lip trembling. After all, they have many books in the house, and plenty of them are from her homeland. Both Viserys and Ser Willem read them to her, and teach her how to do so herself. But she feels bad for this. She must be an awful person, to lie to her brother. With a lump in her throat, she realises that she must be a bad friend after all. No wonder she sometimes wakes the dragon.

Viserys is silent for a moment, before he sighs. 'Well,' he says. 'I suppose your reading must be improving.'

Dany blinks. She keeps her head down, wondering if Viserys is going to start shouting. He doesn't always. Sometimes when he is angry, it will only be fleeting. This is mostly when Ser Willem is nearby, as he is able to calm Viserys. Perhaps this is one of those times. She hopes so.

'Winterfell is a castle, sister,' Viserys says. 'Back home. But in the North. A dreadful place.'

Jon never mentioned anything about it being dreadful. Dany is confused.

'It is home to the Starks,' Viserys continues, and he practically spits out the last word. 'They warden the North. They… are the reason we are here. They aided the Usurper. They are traitors to their true king. They are wild, disloyal dogs. Nothing more.'

Dany wonders why Jon would want to live in such an awful place, with these terrible people. Perhaps she should tell him to come live here instead, with her. But then Viserys might make him go away...

She feels rather sad. She doesn't know what to do.

'When I am grown and king, they shall be dealt with,' Viserys says, his face sour. 'That is all you need to know. Enough talk now.'

Dany nods and silently finishes eating, glad that there was no shouting, but disheartened by what she has learnt.

* * *

When she comes to her garden that night, Jon is already there, sitting by the edge of the pond. He never arrives first- not until now, anyway.

'Winterfell is bad,' she says uncertainly as she joins him by the water's edge. 'Can you leave?'

Jon is good. He is her friend. He shouldn't have to live in a bad place.

He looks surprised. 'Bad? It's not bad. I don't think.'

'But Viserys says it is,' Dany continues.

Jon shakes his head. 'But it's home. Me and Robb live there. And there's Father, and Sansa, and Maester Luwin, and Ser Rodrik, and Jory, and even Lady Catelyn. She's having another child, the maester says.'

Dany is quite intrigued, momentarily distracted from her concerns about his home. 'You'll have another brother? Or a sister?'

Jon nods, smiling.

'I only have one brother,' Dany says, feeling a little jealous. 'I had another one, but he isn't here anymore. Like Mother and Father.'

'Where are they? Did they go away?'

Dany shakes her head. 'They died.'

'Oh,' Jon says, his face falling slightly. Then he bites his lip, looking nervous. 'My mother isn't here.'

'Did she die?'

'I don't know. I think she's far away. I don't know her. I've never met her.'

Dany is shocked. 'I never met _my_ mother,' she tells him quickly. Jon must understand what that means. He is just like her.

'Really?' he asks, staring back at her with wide grey eyes.

She nods eagerly, then remembers that she is supposed to be helping him leave Winterfell. 'You could go and live with her,' Dany says, 'instead of the bad place.'

'But Winterfell _isn't_ bad,' he insists. 'Some of the people aren't nice sometimes, like Lady Stark, but-'

'Stark?' Dany is horrified. 'Jon, they're bad!'

Jon looks very uncomfortable. 'She isn't… bad. She doesn't like me, but she isn't bad. She's Father's wife.'

If she's Jon's father's wife, then shouldn't she be Jon's mother? But Jon said his mother must be far away. And if this lady he speaks of is a Stark, does that mean that Jon's father is one as well?

'Viserys said that the Starks are bad people,' she mumbles, worried that she might upset Jon. If he doesn't believe her, he may decide that he doesn't want to come here again, and she won't have anyone to play with anymore.

'No,' Jon says. 'My father is good. And Robb, and Sansa. They're Starks.'

Dany shivers. She feels colder than the pond water by her side, perhaps even as cold as the snow Jon told her all about.

Snow sounds like such an exciting thing, from what Jon told her. His brother Robb sounds like a good friend to have as well, and whenever Jon speaks of his father, or of his little sister Sansa, he never has anything bad to say. None of them sound as awful as Viserys said they were, and nor does their home.

Dany doesn't understand. Viserys can't be wrong, he just can't be. But Jon can't be lying either, surely? He wouldn't do that.

His family are Starks. He must be one too.

'Are you a Stark?' she asks, very quietly.

Jon is silent for a short while, staring down at the red fish, who dart around the pond like it's some sort of dance. 'No,' he says finally. 'I'm not a Stark.'

Dany feels a small burst of relief, but it is short lived. She wants to get to her feet and jump around and laugh for joy, because the thought of her friend not being one of the bad people is truly splendid. But Jon looks unhappy, as if not being a Stark is something that bothers him.

Dany thinks to perhaps tell him that it's a _good_ thing, that she's glad he's not one of them, but she thinks about Robb, the brother Jon is always telling her about, who plays with him every day; about Sansa, the little babe who can't possibly be bad at all if she is so young; and finally, about Jon's father, whom Jon always speaks highly of. 'My father is very strong,' he has said in the past. 'And all his men love him.'

The Starks don't sound too bad, from what Jon says. Uneasily, Dany wonders if perhaps Viserys is thinking of some _other_ Starks, and he has told her about the wrong people entirely.

She hopes so. She doesn't like the sad look on Jon's face.

'I wish it would snow here,' she says suddenly. 'I want to see it.'

Unfortunately, all she knows of snow is what Jon has told her. She's not sure that she could make it snow in their little world without having seen it first.

And so, when a small white flake flutters past her eyes and lands on her hand, she is at a loss for words. Looking up, she spies several more, falling very slowly from a now grey sky to the ground. It looks a bit like ash from a fireplace, but it disappears very quickly. Already, the little flake on her hand is gone.

'Jon,' she gasps. 'Jon, look!'

He too is staring up at the sky in shock, before a smile covers his face. Dany feels better, instantly. She much prefers him smiling to looking as if he might cry.

The two get to their feet and run out onto a patch of grass, waving their hands about to try and catch the little flakes. Although they are small and they vanish very quickly, they are cold when they touch her skin. Dany doesn't mind, however. She is enthralled by it all, and she begins to giggle in delight when she finds some of the flakes trapped in locks of her hair.

'What is it?' she asks, mesmerised by the sight.

When she looks to Jon, she finds him laughing too, a sound so rare that it feels quite special to her.

'It's snow, Dany,' he says happily. 'It's snow.'

* * *

 **My GoT Tumblr: _jonathansnowflake . tumblr . com_**

 **I was like. Really. Really. _Really._ Blown away by the response from the first chapter. I mean holy shit. Thank you all so much! I hope the rest of the fic will be good for you all!**

 **As very small children still, Jon and Dany don't really have a concept of the passage of time, but it's been a few months since they first met now, or about a year.**

 **Also, yeah. Jon can impact the dreams too. He totally made it snow. Speaking of snow, if any of y'all read _Summer Snows_ , I should be updating pretty soon :)**

 **So. Writing Viserys. Man, that was problematic. As it's Dany's POV in this chapter, and she's still a little kid who definitely idolises her big brother to some degree, I had to make him a little less... shitty. Don't get me wrong, he'll evolve into the seriously abusive dickhead we all know and hate through Dany's perspective eventually.** **One of my readers actually had some concerns about this (and I'm basically gonna copy and paste the entire response cuz I'm lazy af):**

 **Canonically, Viserys and Dany were actually fairly close when Dany was very small, or as least as close as they could have ever been. However, Barristan Selmy does state that Viserys often seemed to show signs of madness as a small child, much like his father, and so I decided to incorporate this into the story. He always had a certain amount of madness; it was simply not as prominent nor as problematic when he was younger. When he sold his mother's crown, the last joy had gone from him, allowing the madness to surface properly. While it's true that he probably didn't start using phrases like 'waking the dragon' until after this had happened, I wanted to change that slightly in my AU to illustrate that he wasn't always kind to Dany and showed signs of early cruelty, even before the crown was sold (and also because I quite liked writing that small moment of confusion between Jon and Dany about whether or not there was a dragon in the house). Of course, his behaviour at this point in the story is very mild compared to what he'd become later on in life. For the most part, Viserys is still quite good to his little sister. The bouts of rage he occasionally has at this point in the story are basically just trantrums. At this age, the worst he could ever do is shout at Dany, and occasionally grab her if he's particularly angry. Ser Willem would never give him the chance to go any further than that, and Viserys likely doesn't have much incentive by this point to take it a step further anyway, aside from the moment in this chapter where Dany asks about their mother.**

 **So, yep. Delving into a younger version of his character was challenging. But hey, it was an interesting challenge.**

 **I'd just like to also clarify that Viserys isn't actually in the dreams. The real him, anyway. I know I confused a few people in the first chapter with his presence. My bad. The angry Viserys inside the house is basically just an artificial version of him, like everything else Dany subconsciously creates in her dreams. He represents more of a nightmare, tbh. After a day of him shouting, the fear Dany feels impacts her dreams, and brings a fake version of him into them. Some people wondered if the fact that he was there meant that he is sharing the dragon dreams with Jon and Dany, but I decided to keep the real him out. I'm kinda doing it the way the show (not the books) treats Dany's resistance to fire: she is somehow 'more' of a dragon than Viserys (after all, fire cannot kill a dragon). By that logic, I'm making her and Jon more... worthy, I guess, of having the gift of psychic dreams. Much like how some of the Targs have the infamous family madness, only some of them can have these dreams. As for good old Maester Aemon, up at the Wall... well, I'm still mostly improvising this. I'm not sure if I'll ever be bringing him in or not. We'll see.**

 **And again, the A/N has gone out of control. Jeez.**

 **Thank you all so much for all the follows/faves/kudos/reviews, and if you could leave a comment on your way out, that would be much appreciated!**


	3. A Game with Ghosts

**III**

 **A GAME WITH GHOSTS**

* * *

 **JON**

* * *

Robb doesn't quite understand, but Jon doesn't mind.

His brother thinks the tales of Dany and the garden to be some kind of game, and soon enough it becomes one. Jon tells him about everything- the sour smelling tree, the little pond, the red door, and of course, Dany herself. Because of this, Dany becomes part of their games. Sometimes she is a princess they must rescue, and sometimes she is a sorceress, like Robb claims she must be when Jon tells him about the sky above the garden on the night he and Dany met, and how she made it turn from day to night. It doesn't matter that Dany isn't really there; after all, lots of things and people in all of Robb and Jon's games are make-believe. There are no real armies or knights here at Winterfell, no dragons, no kings or queens or monsters from beyond the Wall. But the boys can pretend otherwise in their little games, and that's good enough for them.

'Jon!' Robb shouts out as he clambers over a cart in the middle of the yard, likely wheeled in this morning carrying hay for the stables. 'Jon, you must take the princesses!' He waves a wooden stick, a long shining sword in his mind's eye, menacingly at thin air, where he and Jon are pretending an evil warlock is standing, poised to attack.

Jon nods and turns to the 'princesses'. There are meant to be two serving this role, but only one of them is actually present: little Sansa, who stares up at him with wide eyes. The other is make-believe Dany.

'Come on,' Jon says encouragingly, grabbing his little sister's hand and pretending to take Dany's too. He must keep them safe while Robb fends off their foe; after all, the warlock they've made up is able to summon giants, who could catch them and try to eat them. Theon Greyjoy, wherever he is right now, may think the game stupid, but Jon knows better. Filled with the thrill of the game, he leads Sansa and 'Dany' over to the edge of the yard, dodging under Mikken's feet as the armorer heads toward the forge. He finds a small hiding spot behind some wooden crates and gently pushes Sansa into it.

'Stay here,' he tells her. 'Robb and I will beat the warlock.'

Sansa squirms and peers around the edges of the crate, likely confused as to why there isn't really anything for Robb and Jon to fight.

Jon frowns, trying to think of what else he is meant to say. What do all the brave knights in the stories say to the people they protect? 'We shall protect you, fair maidens,' he tries, then nods, satisfied with his declaration. As long as Sansa and 'Dany' stay put, he can go back and join Robb to defeat the warlock.

But when he reaches his brother, Robb looks horrified. 'The warlock ran, Jon,' he gasps. 'I think he's going to get the little princess!'

Jon is confused at first. He assumes the little princess must be Sansa, but she is safely tucked away with 'Dany' behind the crates. He is about to tell Robb this, but the other boy is already racing across the yard. He pushes open a great wooden door and disappears inside, and Jon has no choice but to follow him.

As the two tear down the corridors and up two flights of stairs, Jon realises they are heading towards Lady Stark's chambers, and he slows down slightly. The thought of running into her scares him, even if he is currently posing as a valiant knight. She's far more terrifying than any make-believe warlock. She'll likely be furious if he and Robb wake up the babe, tiny Arya, with all their noise, and…

Arya… the little princess! She must be the one the warlock is after; that's why Robb is leading them here.

'Hurry!' Robb shouts. 'He's almost there!'

Jon speeds up again, his concern over Lady Stark being there forgotten in an instant as he is caught up in the game once more. Jon likes his new sister already; she looks more like him than Robb and Sansa, and she giggles whenever he tries tickling her. No evil warlock is going to get her, he'll make sure of it.

The wet nurse is in there when Robb and Jon arrive, tending to the babe. She jumps as the boys come crashing into the room, and begins scolding them immediately. 'Enough with all this noise. Back outside, at _once_.'

'A sorcerer has come for our sister,' Robb says seriously.

'There are no sorcerers, and certainly not in here,' the wet nurse huffs.

A pitter-patter of tiny feet alert Jon to someone approaching, and as he and Robb peer out the door, they see Sansa racing towards them, looking confused and a little tearful. Perhaps she didn't like being left alone in the yard.

 _She wasn't alone, in the game,_ Jon thinks. But Dany isn't really here. Still, Jon can picture her, clear as day, running along the corridor beside Sansa, her silver-gold hair bouncing around behind her, like it does when she and Jon race through the garden.

As Sansa reaches her brothers, the wet nurse starts berating them again, and the children begrudgingly head back along the corridor towards the stairs.

'It's alright,' Robb says, thinking quickly. 'Mayhaps the sorcerer got lost and couldn't find the little princess. He could have headed elsewhere. We should find him, and hurry.' He takes Sansa's hand, so she won't get left behind this time, and they begin dashing down the corridor, albeit slower than Robb would be if he weren't holding onto his little sister.

Following behind them, Jon reaches out with his own hand and pretends that Dany's fingers are curling around his. They won't need to go slow like Robb and Sansa.

They can run as fast as they like, just as they do when they're really together.

* * *

Something is different about the garden.

When Jon steps out onto the grass, it all seems a little overwhelming. Everything is still there; the sour tree that Dany says grows lemons, the pond with the little fish, the steps leading up to the red door of the house. But it all seems more… spacious, more distant, somehow. The sight makes Jon imagine a giant, like the ones the sorcerer could summon, tugging at the garden walls with its two enormous hands, stretching the garden until it becomes bigger.

He rather likes it; after all, only today he was thinking it would be nice if he and Dany had more room to run around.

He seems to have arrived before Dany; usually, she is here first. On bad nights, when her brother is shouting inside the house, he can often find her crouched under the lemon tree. On good days, however, she might be beside the pond, swirling her hand around as the fish dart back and forth, or else sitting cross-legged on the grass, picking flowers.

A giggle from behind him makes Jon jump slightly. He turns around and peers curiously at bushes tucked away in one corner of the garden, under the shadow of the lemon tree. He and Dany have crawled through them plenty of times before, often when one of them is hiding from the other in a game. Is she already here? Or is someone else in the garden?

Perhaps it's Dany's brother, Viserys. The most Jon has ever seen of him is a dark shadow against a wall when he peered through one of the windows once. Viserys never comes out into the garden. And he always sounds angry, so surely this can't be him.

Jon approaches the bushes, then stumbles backwards in shock as a girl suddenly springs from the undergrowth, laughing. 'Dany,' he calls out, only to pause when he looks at her properly.

The girl isn't Dany, but she looks like her. She has the same silver-gold hair, the same purple eyes. But her face is strange, somehow. It seems to shimmer and blur, like it's in a reflection in water. The rest of her body is hazy too, but her face is easily the most disorienting. Jon feels as if he's looking at a shadow; the ones that dance across the walls in the light of a prickling flame.

The girl's shimmering lips curve into a smile, almost identical the Dany's, and she runs off past Jon, heading over to the pond.

'Dany?' Jon says uncertainly. A part of him knows it's not her, but their resemblance is striking. Perhaps it is Dany after all, only something strange has happened to her.

He means to follow her, but his attention is drawn to the bushes again. Another child is crawling out, this one a boy. He too has the same hair and eyes as Dany, and the same blurring face as the other girl. He rushes after her once he has gotten to his feet, flashing Jon a grin as he races past him.

Finally, a third figure emerges from the bushes, and Jon smiles in relief. This certainly is Dany. Her face is fixed and clear, and she watches the two other children in fascination, as if she is just as shocked as Jon by their presence. She seems happy, but her eyebrows are scrunched slightly, the way they look when she doesn't quite understand something.

'I wanted them to play with us,' she says. 'So I put them here.'

'Who are they?' Jon asks.

Dany walks over to Jon, pulling stray leaves from her hair with one hand. 'My brother was telling me about my family,' she says. 'My other brother- the one who died- had two children. I thought maybe they could be here too.'

'What's wrong with them?' Jon doesn't mean to sound unkind, but fortunately, Dany understands him.

'I'm not sure,' she admits, watching them. 'I wanted them to be here, and then they came. But I don't know them, not really. I never met them. They died before I was born.'

'They're dead?' Jon watches the other two children nervously as they play on the grass, skipping around each other and laughing. He remembers all of Old Nan's stories, especially the ones with ghosts in them. Many say that the great crypts beneath Winterfell house the ghosts of all the former lords and the old Kings of Winter. He's never seen one before, but the tales of long-dead spirits are enough to frighten him.

The girl and the boy aren't frightening, though. The way they flicker is disconcerting, admittedly, but their smiles and laughter make them seem as alive and him and Dany- even if their voices sound distant and seem to echo around the garden.

Dany turns to Jon with eagerness. 'But Jon, they're not now. Look. They're not dead here. They don't have to be.' She looks back at the other children, then steps towards them, a little hesitant, but with complete wonder on her face.

'She's Rhaenys,' she says, pointing at the girl, before turning to the boy. 'And he's Aegon.'

'Like the Conqueror?' Jon asks, his mind instantly filled with Maester Luwin's history lessons about the conquest and the dragons. He struggles to remember most of what he learns from all those mornings and afternoons of listening to the maester drone on about the past, often dreaming of when he and Robb will be permitted to leave, so they can do something far more exciting- like playing out in the yard or running around the castle. He barely understands most of what Maester Luwin says anyway, no matter how simple the old man tries to make it for the two young boys.

But the stories about Aegon, his sisters and their dragons… those ones are worth paying attention to. They've inspired hours of games between Robb and Jon, and often little Sansa and make believe Dany too. The stories always sound as incredible as Old Nan's tales of the monsters beyond the Wall, except no one ever tells Jon that the stories about Aegon and his sisters are made up, that they're too impossible to be real.

Dany spins around quite abruptly, her amazement now directed at Jon. 'You know about Aegon the Conqueror? And Rhaenys and Visenya?'

Jon nods, feeling a small blush creep across his skin. From the way Dany is smiling at him, it's clear to see that she is delighted that they finally have something they both know about, something they both must love the story of.

'The maester teaches me and Robb about it,' he elaborates. 'About Aegon and Rhaenys and Visenya, and about Balerion and… Mer…'

'Meraxes and Vhagar,' Dany breathes, and in unison the two exclaim, 'Their dragons!'

Jon is grinning from ear to ear now. When he is back home with Robb and their games, make believe Dany loves to play along with everything- and now he knows that the real Dany truly does love some of the things that excite Jon the most.

A few feet away, the girl, Rhaenys, lets out a squeal and dodges Aegon when he playfully lunges at her. Jon watches them, and something inside him pulls slightly, willing him to join them. They scuffle the way he and Robb scuffle when they're pretending to be wolves in a pack, play fighting and wrestling in the mud.

Dany reaches out and takes his hand, the way they often do when they mean to run together. 'Come on,' she says, and Jon nods again, his previous misgivings about the other children slipping away quietly towards the back of his head. Mayhaps they'll like some of the games he and Robb play, just like Dany does when he tells her about them.

The children make use of the larger garden straight away, racing in pairs across the grass and dodging behind bushes to escape each other when their playing shifts into more of a chase and catch sort of game. The other two don't talk at all, simply giggling and crying out whenever Jon or Dany draw too close. They flicker a lot more when they're in motion, reminding Jon strongly of the way the fish in the pond shimmer when he and Dany swish the water around with their hands. It might be easier to play with Aegon and Rhaenys, and maybe even to _talk_ to them, if only they seemed as if they truly were here with him and Dany.

'I'm Jon,' he tells the boy as Aegon ducks behind the lemon tree at one point. In an effort to reach the other boy, Jon almost slips into the pond. He reaches out for Aegon's hand, hoping for a little help, but the pale, shimmering boy doesn't seem to register Jon's movements at all.

'Can you hear me?' Jon asks, his voice quieter. Aegon and Rhaenys behave very strangely, and certainly not in a way Jon has ever seen other children behaving in, back home; it's as if they know Jon and Dany are here with them, but they don't seem to care. They're far more wrapped up in each others' presence, and when they do glance at the other two children, their eyes seem to look straight through them.

Jon shivers. It's nice that he and Dany have two new friends to play with, and it's a lot easier having real people here instead of compensating with make believe versions of them like he does with Dany back home, but… he's not entirely sure _real_ is the right word at all.

Rhaenys and Aegon don't seem altogether… _here._

Jon glances uncertainly at Dany. She's over by the steps, chasing Rhaenys around with a wide grin on her face. Jon knows Dany is unerved too, albeit far less so than he is; but right now, she is simply happy.

He puts his unease to rest and follows Aegon as the other boy heads over to the girls.

* * *

'Ghosts?' Robb whispers the next morning as he and his brother break fast.

They don't have lessons until the afternoon, which means they have a whole morning of play ahead of them. Sansa won't be joining them, as Lady Stark wishes to spend the morning finding a new dress for her daughter to wear. A feast is being held to commemorate Father's return from the Iron Islands. He's been back home several weeks already, but the victory is a grand one (as grand as can be for such barren, awful islands, Jon often hears the castle folk whisper), and so many lords and their ladies from across the North, and even some Southron guests are attending. As such, the whole event has required weeks of preparation, which has given time for everyone to arrive. A few days before, Jon even heard a steward whispering to a friend about a rumour that the king himself might be attending, but it had immediately been declared utter nonsense.

He had been excited, nonetheless, at the possibility, and had run to Robb with what he had heard. Robb, too, had immediately begun chatting away about how wonderful it would be for King Robert to come to Winterfell, and how he absolutely should, being one of Father's friends. But it was the new boy, Theon Greyjoy, who had dismissed the idea.

'The king's not coming,' he had said sullenly. He hadn't sounded disappointed. If anything, the prospect of the king coming to Winterfell seemed to upset him.

King Robert, of course, had fought beside Father _against_ Theon's family, so Jon thought that Theon perhaps might be scared to see the king. He had asked as such, innocently enough, and had been met with a hateful scowl, far uglier and brutal than the subtle glowers from Lady Stark.

'I'm not afraid, bastard,' Theon had spat. 'What do you know?'

Jon hadn't said anything more after that. Prior to this, he had thought about making friends with Theon, like Robb wanted to do, but being called a bastard soured this idea. Jon hadn't meant to be mean, even if Theon was the son of an enemy would-be king. Theon, after all, had come here afraid and miserable, not much older than Robb and Jon. He certainly hadn't fought in any battles against Father. He wasn't bad.

But Theon has been here for weeks now, and he is nothing but a prickly thorn to Job. Robb fawns over him like all the silly maids fawn over the heroic knights in the stories, full of admiration. Theon doesn't snap at Robb like he does with Jon, but instead regales him with stories about his home back on Pyke, stories from before the war. The two seem as close as trueborn brothers already. And truthfully, they are both trueborn sons, aren't they? Not to the same father, of course, but they will grow to be lords someday, to take their fathers' places on Pyke and at Winterfell.

And Jon? He is just as Theon says. He is a bastard. Not trueborn. Never to be a lord. Perhaps not even as true a brother to Robb as Theon now seems to be. Something inside of Jon squirms whenever he watches Robb following Theon around, something that makes his throat feel blocked and his eyes sting a bit and his face go hot. It's alright when Theon has other places to be, and Jon has Robb to play with, and Sansa and 'Dany' too. Those are the best moments. Sometimes it's even alright when Theon is around, as long as Jon can play with him and Robb and not be left out, watching them.

He never has to worry about that in the dreams with Dany. Even when Aegon and Rhaenys came the night before. No one told him he couldn't play with them, or called him mean names.

'Jon.' Robb's voice returns, more urgent than before. 'Were there ghosts? Truly?'

Jon shrugs. 'I don't know. They looked strange. And Dany said they were dead.'

Robb's eyes are round. 'Were they bad?'

'No. We played together. The garden was bigger, and we could all run around and chase each other and hide, and we-'

'How did they die?' Robb gasps.

Jon frowns at him. 'I don't know. They didn't say. They didn't really talk.'

'Does Dany know how?'

Jon doesn't have an answer to this, either. 'They just seemed… different.'

Robb thinks for a second, then leans over the table slightly, almost squashing the bread on his plate. He stares at the empty space on the opposite side, like there's someone there. 'Do you know how they died, Dany?' he asks, and Jon realises that they're playing pretend now, imagining that Dany is here like they do in their games.

At this moment, Theon Greyjoy swings onto the bench beside Robb, and immediately begins filling his plate. 'Dany says they were stabbed,' he informs them with mocking seriousness, nodding at the empty space across the table. 'And their heads were chopped off.'

Robb shuffles uncomfortably. 'That's awful.'

'Well, that's what she says,' Theon says gravely, although his smile is anything but sombre.

'You don't even know who we're talking about,' Jon mumbles, staring down at his lap. He usually likes pretending that Dany is here with him, even if it's not as good as really seeing her, but it feels wrong now. Theon knows about Dany, having beared witness to many games between Robb and Jon, but that doesn't mean he _knows_ her.

Theon smirks. 'You're talking about your pretend friend.'

'She's not pretend,' Jon says.

'Oh really? Then why can't I see her?' the older boy taunts, giving up all pretence of conversing with Dany.

'She is real,' Robb insists, and Jon feels warmth sweeping over him, far nicer and more comforting that the upset burning he feels when he is jealous. Robb will defend him; even if they're not trueborn brothers, they're still close.

'Jon meets her at night,' Robb continues. 'And they play in a garden.'

'Oh,' Theon exclaims, 'and where is this garden?'

'Braavos,' Jon says defiantly.

Theon bursts out laughing. 'That's in _Essos,_ Snow. You mean to tell me you go all the way across the Narrow Sea to meet with this girl?' A new smile crosses over his lips, a cruel one, and the look in his eyes is teasing. 'She must be truly special.'

Jon's feels hot again, and not the nice, soothing warmth from before.

'She looks special,' Robb puts encouragingly, oblivious to the tension on either side of him. 'Jon says she has pale hair, almost white. Like old people. And her eyes are _purple._ He said the ghosts look like her too.' He turns back to Jon. 'Isn't that right?'

Jon nods. 'She said they were called Aegon and Rhaenys. I don't know if they're coming back. They played with us, but they were strange-'

'Aegon?' Theon says, looking thoroughly confused now. 'And Rhaenys? You play with the Targaryens in your dreams, Snow?'

'They weren't _the_ Aegon and Rhaenys,' Jon says, briefly feeling cleverer than Theon. 'Visenya wasn't even there.'

Theon rolls his eyes. 'There were lots of of Targaryens with those names. Mayhaps…' He trails off, suddenly straightening on his seat. 'Mayhaps it was Prince Rhaegar's children,' he says dramatically with a crooked grin. 'The ones who died in the Sack of King's Landing.'

Robb and Jon glance uneasily at each other. They know about the rebellion, of course, and that the Mad King died, but Father won't tell them about the Sack. Maester Luwin won't teach them, either. They're too young, the maester says, to learn about such things. About the Sack, about Rhaegar and their aunt Lyanna, about what happened to Grandfather and Uncle Brandon.

Could Jon had truly been playing with a prince and a princess? He twists his fingers together under the table and bites his lip.

A dead prince. A dead princess.

Theon reaches for a goblet of water, unfazed by it all. He thinks it's all pretend. He thinks none of it is real.

'Your Dany,' he says. 'She looks like them? Perhaps she's a Targaryen too.' He laughs, as if this really is all a game, and Jon says nothing more.

* * *

When Jon hears Viserys's screaming inside the house and finds Dany curled up under the tree, sobbing, he knows this is an especially bad night.

He picks some purple flowers from the bushes, because they match Dany's eyes and because she likes making chains with the stems, and brings them over to her. She swats them away when Jon holds them out to her, and he feels his eyes sting a little, like they do when he sees Robb and Theon playing without him.

'I don't want them,' Dany chokes. She doesn't mean to be unkind, Jon realises, much like he never did when he asked Theon about the king. And unlike Theon entirely, because the older boy always seems to mean it when he is cruel.

Jon doesn't really know what else to do. 'Do you want to play a game?' he asks, feeling nervous and a little cold. It's never very cold in the garden, not even when it snows. The sky is dark, so perhaps it's an evening chill? But the coolness isn't from around him, it's from inside him. His stomach squirms uncomfortably when he sees tears trickling down Dany's cheeks.

'No.'

'Not even chase?'

' _No,'_ Dany says forcefully. She scowls at the bark on roots at the foot of the tree, her fingers picking at it forcefully.

With a start, Jon notices the red around her fingertips, and the way it smears on the peeling bark. Her actions have drawn blood, and that just doesn't seem right. Jon and Dany never get hurt in the dreams; not when they trip over while giving chase, or prick themselves on the thorns of bushes. Not even when they last tried climbing the lemon tree, and Jon slipped from a branch and fell.

From inside the house, Viserys's voice screeches, '... as if you even knew them, as if you ever knew _any_ of them!'

'Stop,' Jon says. 'Your fingers. They'll hurt.'

Dany carries on pulling at the bark, giving no sign that she is listening.

Jon panics. 'Dany, why are they bleeding? You shouldn't be bleeding-'

'Because it's not real, Jon!' Dany says, turning on him. Her eyes are shiny, her eyebrows scrunched together in distress. 'It's not real, and I want it to be! I want my dreams to be real, and everything in them. I wanted _them_ to be real.'

Aegon and Rhaenys aren't here, Jon notices when he glances around at the rest of the garden. They could be hiding, using the dark of night as their cover, but he knows they're gone.

'I told my brother about them,' Dany sobs. 'I said I dreamt them, and I made them real here, so I could play with them and we'd have our family back. But he got angry. He said I don't know anything, that it's all bad memories and I'm… I'm mocking them. I don't w-want to do that. I just w-wanted them _here.'_

Jon reaches out and tugs at her hands, pulling them from the bark. She shouldn't be bleeding, or hurting at all. He doesn't know if they have a maester in the house to fix her fingers, and even so, he doesn't wish to enter.

Viserys shouldn't be angry. Everything is wrong.

Dany just wanted to _play._

'Ser Willem c-couldn't make him stop,' Dany continues. She is calmer now, but the tears are still falling. 'He's sick. He sleeps a lot n-now.'

Jon shuffles closer to her and lifts one arm around her shoulders, like he once saw Father do to Lady Stark when she was crying about something.

'It's all just pretend, Jon,' Dany whispers and she leans against him. Her head is close to his, and he can just about smell a sweet fragrance. It might be the scent of flowers, only not any that he knows back home. It's much nicer than the sour lemon tree beside them, and Jon thinks to ask Dany if she can show him more of the flowers that grow here where she lives, and perhaps she'll make more of the chains she loves making. But he'll ask later, when she's not crying.

'The garden's real. But it's not p-perfect, not like it is here,' she says. 'And they were real, once. But they're not anymore. They died. And you…'

'I'm real,' Jon says.

Dany shifts her head to look up at him. 'Promise?'

'Promise,' he tells her.

They are silent for a while, and for once the stillness doesn't make Jon restless and desperate to play. He likes sitting here with Dany, and he likes it even more when she finally stops quaking with sobs and Viserys's voice fades away to nothing inside the house. He's a bad big brother, Jon decides, although he already knows this, really. He never really thinks about it, but he knows. Robb would never make him feel like this; even when Jon feels left out and forgotten, he knows Robb would never mean to do it.

He thinks about Aegon and Rhaenys, and how Dany said they were her family. And he thinks about what Theon said, about how they must be Targaryens, perhaps even the little ones who died in the war, the ones no one ever likes to talk about.

'Are you a Targaryen?' he asks.

Dany's head shoots up in an instant, and the instant roar inside the house announces Viserys's return. His words are incomprensible, muffled and jumbled together, but they sound as furious as ever.

Dany's eyes are even wider than Robb's were when Jon told him about the ghosts. She glances fearfully at the noisy house, before looking back at him. She still looks scared, and not just because of her brother. Jon feels his stomach twist again. He doesn't like the way Dany looks at him now, like he's just as terrifying as the house.

'You can't tell,' she whispers. 'You mustn't. Viserys says we must never tell _anyone_.'

She sounds so serious, like this is the most important thing in the whole world. And from the way she grasps Jon's hands and clutches them tightly, he believes it must be.

'I won't tell,' he says.

'Swear it,' she says, just as she asked him to promise he was real.

'I swear.' And he means it too. He won't tell a living soul, not even Robb. He doesn't want Dany to cry anymore.

She relaxes, and even manages a small smile. It doesn't meet her eyes, not quite, but Jon is happy nonetheless when she leans against him again and the two rest their backs against the tree, silently counting the seconds until Viserys's voice dims once more.

* * *

The next night, Dany is happier. Viserys's voice never bothers them, and Jon ends up showing Dany another game of his when the clouds above them morph into a dreary grey and the rain begins to fall. He takes Dany's hand and the two leap from puddle to puddle, splashing water all over themselves. Neither of them mind, and the garden is full of laughter. When Jon closes his eyes, the weather makes him think he is back at Winterfell, and he has brought Dany with him. The firm grip of her hand in his, even without his sight, reminds him that she is not make believe now. Dany is real, as real as he is.

This night is better than the last, better than so many that are yet to come. The two are uninterrupted, happy, content. Alone.

Aegon and Rhaenys don't come back.

* * *

 **My GoT Tumblr: _jonathansnowflake . tumblr . com._ I'm much easier to contact there, just fyi. No hiatuses to be seen there, just a bunch of Jonerys and Gendrya.**

 **The weird thing with this chapter is I had some serious writer's block about a third of the way through and had no idea how to progress with the Jon/Dany/Rhaenys/Aegon scene. The first bit with the Starklings playing, however, was written on a single evening in December with absolutely no problems whatsoever. I think writing _Summer Snows_ has made Stark kids content much easier for me, whereas writing the Targaryen kids is unfamiliar territory. Especially when two of them have no canon personalities, cuz they died so young. And finally, at least half this story was written this evening. Idek anymore.**

 **Also, I'm really, really sorry. I kept getting messages around late January like 'please don't abandon this story!' and I was so confused? I didn't know why people thought I was doing that? Then I remembered that most of y'all probably don't actually know me as an author, and know that around 2 month hiatuses are like. Completely normal from me. Additionally, this story is basically a side project for me, something to experiment with. My main fic on the go right now was very much the main focus of my attention over the last couple of months, which is funny considering how scared shitless I was of writing it.**

 **But yeah, no, I'm not abandoning this story. That was never up for debate. I was literally only two chapters in, and I've spent hours thinking about how else I could diverge the plot from the canon storyline. I've actually got an idea that will come a long way down the line and will involve Arya (it was such a relief to include her in this chap, no matter how briefly. I love this girl). I'm really enjoying writing this, don't worry.**

 **Anyway, there are other obstacles as well. To quote myself in my other fic, I'm on a highly intensive Access to HE course, which is basically the equivalent of two years of A Levels packed into one year. And to those unfamiliar with the British education system, that basically means a lot of hysterical breakdowns at three in the morning, especially if you have shit mental health. I recently got a diagnosis that may also prove problematic (and could very well have been causing me problems all along without me knowing. Spooky) and also- weirdest thing of all: there's a very good chance I'm dyslexic. How about that.**

 **Anyway, several notes about the actual chapter:**

 **1: Aegon and Rhaenys. I know know canonically that Rhaenys actually looked like her mother and had dark hair and everything, but I wanna imagine that little Dany hasn't got a damn clue what her niece and nephew looked like, and probably just assumed they looked just like her (hence why Rhaenys was basically a virtual copy of Dany). I made them sorta shimmery and ethereal and unable to speak cuz I didn't want them to be too real, and I didn't have plans to keep them around. I just want Dany and Jon to test out what they can do in the dreams, and provide some emotional value while I'm at it.**

 **2: Theon. I actually like Theon, despite the absolute dick I made him here. I had a bit of problems with Theon's age in relation to Robb and Jon, and exactly when the Greyjoy Rebellion took place. In the books, Theon is several years older than them, but in the show he's about a year older. I did some kind of weird blendy thing here and aged him somewhere in between his age in the books/show. Jon and Dany are meant to be about 6 and 5 respectively here, but that means I've basically shifted the time when the Greyjoy Rebellion happened. I hope that's okay, cuz I wanted Theon in this chapter as the newly made Stark ward, and I needed this to be before Ser Willem dies.**

 **3: Jon. He hasn't really registered that he's effecting the dreams too yet (making it snow in the last chapter and making the garden bigger cuz he wished he and Dany had more space) but he'll catch on eventually. He and Dany are still too young to notice or question some of the more obvious things. He probably still thinks Dany is magic. My friend and I joked about this quite a lot when I presented the idea of this story to her.**

 **Anywho, tangent over. I hope that all clears a few things up. I might start replying to comments, especially if they contain concerns about the story (again, just to repeat. Definitely, 100% NOT abandoning). Is anyone still actually reading lmao? My A/Ns are always so ridiculously long. If only I could write actual chapters half as fast as these things.**

 **Thank you so much to everyone who is following this story and leaving all the amazing comments. Seriously, for a side project, this fic is shaping up to be one of my most successful stories. I wonder what I should do with the other projects I have in mind.**

 **Thanks for reading, and remember to review!**


	4. A Distant Dream

**IV**

 **A DISTANT DREAM**

* * *

 **DAENERYS**

* * *

There's something wrong with Ser Willem.

He doesn't walk around the house so much now, and he hardly ever leaves it at all. Dany misses those rare occasions where he would take her to the market, or down by the docks where she could watch the ships arrive with all the pretty laces from Myr and bright colours of the Tyroshi fabrics. One time, a year ago, Dany has become enchanted by a dark purple dress her size, with beautiful patterns sewn into it with crimson threads. The tradesman had laughed good naturedly when she had approached, tugging at Ser Willem's sleeve, and told her that before it had been shipped to Pentos, which was where he had brought it from, it came from King's Landing itself, made by one of the finest seamstresses the city had to offer. Dany had been enthralled, and it took a lot to remember that she shouldn't blurt out anything stupid, such as how her family once lived in King's Landing. Ser Willem and Viserys always, _always_ reminded her that she must never tell people this.

If anyone asked, she was to say that she was Lysenni, and she had come to Braavos with Ser Willem, her father, when her mother had passed. 'Many of the Lysenni share your colouring, princess,' Ser Willem had told her when she had asked why. 'The blood of Old Valyria runs through them too.'

He had once suggested another approach to keeping Dany's true identity hidden, however, but Viserys had turned it down. 'She will not tarnish her hair with dyes, ser,' he had sniffed one evening as the three had sat together. Dany was on Viserys's lap, having her hair combed by his needly fingers. 'She is of my blood, the blood of the dragon, and the dragon is not so cowardly to hide in such a manner.' He had tugged at her hair a little too hard, and Dany had squirmed. He likely didn't mean to on this occasion, and so she didn't want to protest.

'Better still,' Viserys had added in an afterthought, 'don't take her out onto the streets. She has the garden- isn't that enough? What use is the city to a child?'

The city was nice enough, Dany had thought. After all, she wouldn't have seen the dress and convinced Ser Willem to get it for her if she hasn't ventured around. It had cost him most of the silver he had on him and Viserys had called it a waste of good coin, but Dany loved it- so much so that she refused to wear it out in the garden, where she might dirty it. Her dreams, of course, were a different matter. She had proudly shown it to Jon on the night she first wore it, relieved that nothing in the dream could ruin her dress- not unless she wanted it to.

She still has it, hanging in a cupboard in her room. She wears it round the house occasionally, but other than that, it remains hidden away. She would give anything to go out with Ser Willem again, to go to the market and look at all the clothes and ornaments and foods from around the city and beyond, and down to the docks to see the ships. She could wear her pretty dress, and proudly show it to the tradesman should she see him again.

But Ser Willem stays in the house, and so does she.

Sometimes, before she falls asleep and meets Jon in the garden, she'll hear Ser Willem coughing at night. It sounds far deeper and worse than an ordinary cough, such as when Dany might choke on some water or when one of the servants came down with a fever three moons past. Sometimes, she even hears him retching into his chamber pot, and she'll feel tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. She always squeezes them shut and hopes for the dreams to come quickly.

On the better nights, he'll come and read to her in bed. Viserys used to do the same when Dany was smaller, but he is older now and has other matters to attend to. He is almost a man grown, if not already. He'll often read with her in the day, but it is to teach her to read for herself, not to tell her stories. Most of the books in the house are in the Common Tongue, which Dany has grown the most accustomed to. She can make sense of quite a few of the words now, and she enjoys showing Ser Willem how much she has learnt. Often at night, she'll ask if she can take a turn to read out the stories, and Ser Willem will smile and encourage her to do so. 'You are a wonderful storyteller, princess,' he always says, and Dany will momentarily forget how sick he looks, with the dark circles under his eyes and his pale, clammy skin.

One night, after she and Ser Willem have parted and sleep has claimed her, she skips around the garden in her dream in excitement. The story Ser Willem had for her today was not from a book, but rather from Ser Willem's memory. He'd wistfully told her that he couldn't seem to find a full account of the tale in any of the books around the house, only brief mentions of it in preludes to tales of Aegon's Conquest. Dany thinks this is unfair. This is by far her favourite story now, for one very simple reason.

Her namesake, Daenys, and her own dream.

Dany surprises Jon when he arrives, leaping out from behind the tree and squealing with delight. 'Jon!' she cries. 'Jon, I heard the best story ever today!'

Jon blinks, relaxing from the sudden shock. 'Even better than the one about Symeon Star-Eyes?'

Each week seems to provide a new favourite story for Jon and Dany. While Dany's stories come from her books and from the mouths of Viserys and Ser Willem, Jon learns most of his stories from a woman back at Winterfell called Old Nan, who seems to know all the ancient legends from Dany's homeland. 'She's very old,' Jon told her once, 'and Robb thinks she's been around for centuries.'

'That's impossible,' Dany had replied, but she was intrigued, nonetheless. After all, Viserys said that some of the dragons had lived for centuries. Perhaps people could as well.

Symeon Star-Eyes, a legendary warrior from the Age of Heroes who had lost his eyes and replaced them with sapphires, has been Jon and Dany's favourite tale of the week. The night before, they'd both tried spinning around the garden with sticks in their hands and eyes firmly shut, trying to imagine what it would be like to fight blind- until Jon had almost fallen into the pond.

It's a good story, but perhaps not one Jon and Dany will ever live up to, even in their games. The new one, on the other hand...

'Much better,' Dany replies. She feels a little bad for dismissing the tale of Symeon, as she had enjoyed it greatly and Jon was the one who told her of it, but he takes her words graciously, already excited to learn what could possibly be better. That's one of the many things Dany likes about Jon; after all, had she done this with Viserys, he wouldn't have liked it one bit. He wouldn't like being told her story was better than his. He'd grow angry.

'Ser Willem told me all about the Doom of Valyria,' Dany begins.

Jon looks thoughtful. 'I know that one,' he says, though not unkindly. He is simply keen to participate. 'Maester Luwin told me and Robb about it. He said that Valyria was the greatest city the world had ever seen, until the Doom. The hills split open and fire fell down on the city and the people and the dragons burned.'

Dany nods eagerly. 'But not all of them. Ser Willem told me why my family didn't die. Because of Daenys the Dreamer.'

Jon stares at her. 'Daenys? That sounds like-'

'I was named for her,' Dany finishes for him. 'She had a special dream, Jon.'  
'Like ours?' Jon asks.

Dany is delighted, because she has been wondering about this too. She knows Jon will be just as pleased to hear the story, and what it might mean for them. 'I'm not sure. Her dream was all about the Doom. She saw it before it happened.'

Jon is shocked. 'She saw the future?'

'She convinced her father that they needed to leave, and they took their dragons with them,' Dany elaborates. 'They sailed to Dragonstone- that's where I was born, Viserys says- and the Doom happened twelve years later. She was _right,_ Jon. Her dream came _true_.'

Jon is utterly astonished. 'How? How did she know? Why didn't she warn everyone else? Everyone could have escaped.'

Dany bites her lip, because she too knows what happened to all the people who lived there. 'Mayhaps she did,' she suggests quietly, 'and people didn't listen.'

'Mayhaps they didn't believe her,' Jon agrees solemnly. 'Like Theon. He doesn't believe me about you, even if Robb does.'

Dany has heard all about Theon Greyjoy, a ward of Jon's father. He sounds quite awful, the way Jon talks about him, and yet he seems to be a close friend of Robb. He can't be all bad if Robb likes him, and Dany has it in good faith that Robb must have the right of things, because Jon always speaks very highly of his brother.

'Theon doesn't know anything,' she declares, and Jon smiles.

'You said her father listened to her,' he prompts her, perking up a little. 'Even if no one else did.'

'That's right,' Dany says. 'That's why my family lived. All because of Daenys the Dreamer. And what if our dreams are special like hers, Jon?'

'But we can't see the future,' Jon remarks, looking puzzled. 'We're just seeing each other.'

'But what if this _is_ the future?' Dany says, feeling incredibly proud of herself for having worked it out. She must be right. 'What if this means you're going to come here one day, so we can really see each other?' She grabs Jon's hands and claps them tightly in her own, grinning from ear to ear. 'What if you come to stay here with me? And you can take me to visit Winterfell, and I can meet Robb and your sisters, and tell Theon Greyjoy that his head's full of dust.'

Once, the thought of visiting Winterfell might have filled her with fear. After all, she remembers the bad things Viserys said, about the Starks who live there; they're Jon's family, even if he isn't one of them. But Dany knows better now. Even if Lady Stark doesn't sound particularly pleasant, Lord Stark, Robb, little Sansa and even baby Arya all sound like wonderful people to meet. Viserys always talks about how they'll be going home one day, back to Westeros, so surely this will all happen eventually.

Jon seems equally enthralled at the prospect. 'You could see the godswood,' he says, 'and the yard, where we play. And the summer snows! And the great keep, where we have feasts! I'm not allowed to sit with Father and Robb and Lady Stark when that happens, but mayhaps you could sit with me!'

'We'll sit wherever we like,' Dany promises him, knowing better than to ask why Jon can't sit with the rest of his family on special occasions. She doesn't understand it at all, but she knows by now that he doesn't like to talk about it.

'And we can play together all the time, not just at night,' Jon adds with an almost shy smile. 'Me and Robb won't have to pretend you're with us; you'll really be there, and even Theon will believe me then.'

'And we'll play all our favourite games together,' Dany finishes, beaming. 'We must be just like Daenys, Jon. We can see the future too.'

'Only ours is happy,' Jon says, eyes shining.

Dany silently agrees. Their future will hold no terrible Doom, with fire and ash and smoke in the sky. Their homes, here in the garden and at Winterfell, won't be lost to the flames. If this is what the future looks like, Dany thinks, glancing around her bright, colourful garden, all the while thinking of the pretty summer snows in the godswood Jon has told her so much about, then she won't let anything take it away from them.

'Do you think Daenys ever shared dreams with her friends?' Jon asks, looking thoughtful.

'I don't know. We don't have any books about her,' Dany replies. 'Ser Willem told me the story, and he only told me about that one dream.'

'Maester Luwin might have some in the library,' Jon offers. 'I could look.'

Dany claps her hands together in joy. 'That would be wonderful! And we could play it, too! I could be Daenys, and you could be…'

'One of the dragons?' Jon suggests, and Dany giggles.

Soon they are caught up in their game, racing around the garden and shouting out false cries of distress when the sky turns a dark crimson and little flakes of ash swirl around like snowflakes. Daenys and her family were nowhere near Valyria when the Doom finally took place, of course, yet Jon and Dany make up a whole new story, where they are trying to escape the city and fly away from the flames. The colour of the sky is almost alarming, yet the children know they are safe.

Nothing bad can ever happen in the dreams. Not unless they want it to.

* * *

Bad things happen in the real world. Dany knows this.

Since she was old enough to make sense of anything, she has known that bad things happened to her family. Long ago, they may have been fortunate in evading the Doom of Valyria, and conquering Westeros to bring the Seven Kingdoms together. But those times have long since passed, and Dany knows about the more recent tragedies that have befallen them- even if Viserys hates to speak of them. Ser Willem never liked telling her either, when she was very little, after all, he said these terrible things weren't for children to hear.

But Dany knows what death is. Ser Willem had been the one who told her about her parents, about Rhaegar and his wife and children. About the war and the Usurper, and how she mustn't tell people who she really is, because it's not safe.

Jon knows, but he promised he'd never tell. And he won't. Dany knows this, as surely as she knows of the bad things that have happened. Jon is her dearest friend, her _only_ friend, and she trusts him most in all the world. She trusts in the future they have dreamt together, of all the happy times ahead.

Things aren't supposed to be bad. They aren't supposed to be like this.

Ser Willem doesn't leave his bed much now. The servants tend to him each day, bringing food and water and herbs, and other things that Dany doesn't recognise. Remedies that they say might help, or at least ease the pain.

Viserys forbids her to enter Ser Willem's room. He tells her to read her books, to play in the garden if she must, to keep out of way, and most importantly out of trouble. 'His sickbed is no place for you,' he says. 'We don't know what ails him. What if you catch it, sister? Don't be foolish. Do as I say.'

'Yes, Vis,' Dany replies, but she imagines visiting Ser Willem all the same. She thinks of creeping into his room at night, so she can curl up against his chest and they can read their stories together, the way they used to. Mayhaps she'll find a book about Daenys the Dreamer somewhere in the house, somewhere Ser Willem must have simply missed before. She could read it out to him and show him how good she is now at reading, and perhaps she might even tell him about her own special dreams, and about Jon. The thought of disobeying Viserys doesn't seem to scare her as much as it usually would.

She ends up doing just this, one night after everyone has gone to bed. She is afraid that she'll get caught, afraid to see Ser Willem like this, afraid that she might grow sick as well. She worries, too, that Jon will be alone in the dreams tonight, for she doesn't plan on going to sleep. Despite all this, she enters Ser Willem's room all the same.

His breaths are raspy and very loud, and in the gloomy darkness they sound awfully frightening. She steps closer towards the dim candlelight at his bedside, squeezing her hands into fists until the fingernails dig into her skin. Her heart is pumping like thunder against her chest, and it's unnerving- not like how it is when she and Jon have been racing each other, and she is breathless and laughing.

She doesn't want to be here, and yet she does as well. She stands still for a moment, wondering what she is meant to do now.

But then the heavy breathing stops for one, silent moment, and she hears a voice croak out, 'Daenerys?'

She approaches, uncurling her fists. In the faint light of the small flame she can just about make out Ser Willem's face. The lines across his skin are still there, and his eyelids are droopier than ever, but the yellow candlelight does his face some justice. He doesn't look as pale as before, as if there really is colour in him once more. Dany knows this isn't true, but she feels happier for it anyway. The little light makes his eyes seem to shine too, and suddenly it's as if Ser Willem isn't really sick. As if everything is going to be alright. As if the perfect little world she envisions with Jon is right here, right now, waiting for her.

'What are you doing here, little princess?' Ser Willem coughs. His voice is still rough and broken, but it is as kind as always. Dany's heart steadies, and she feels warmth blossoming in her chest.

'I have a story,' she tells him, clambering onto the bed quietly and crawling over to him.

'Oh, sweetling,' he whispers. 'You mustn't be here.'

She lays down by his side, ignoring the smell of sweat, and bile from the chamber pot nearby, and something else, something vile and sharp. 'I have special dreams,' she tells him. 'Like Daenys, in the story. I see things that are going to happen. I dream about the garden, but I'm not alone. There's a boy called Jon, and he's my friend. He lives far away, but he comes to visit me in my dreams. One day, we'll see each other for real. We're going to be happy, and nothing bad will ever happen.'

'These sound like nice dreams, my princess,' Ser Willem says softly. 'I should like to see that day come.'

He doesn't believe her, Dany knows. He thinks these are _just_ dreams, like Theon Greyjoy thinks when Jon speaks of them. Like the people of Valyria may have thought if Daenys had warned them. But Dany doesn't mind. Ser Willem just doesn't realise the truth yet, and that's alright.

'You'll see,' she promises him, thinking of Ser Willem and Viserys, of Jon and his family, of the garden and of Winterfell. 'You shall be there too, with us. We'll all be together.'

Ser Willem's old, weary face breaks into a smile, and he closes his eyes.

In the morning, when Dany awakens, Ser Willem is silent, and his skin is cold to touch. He doesn't wake up.

* * *

The servants are gone. One day, they are here, tending to the preparations for Ser Willem's body, bustling around the house with their usual chores and business to take care of. The next day, the house is quiet. Dany wanders around for a while, hungry. When she goes into the garden, no one calls out to warn her to stay away from the pond, or to scold her for muddying her dress when she sits on the grass and begins picking at the flowers.

It's almost like being in the dream garden, where she never gets in trouble, only she is alone and it isn't perfect. It's all wrong now, and broken, and twisted.

The tree looks thinner than ever, like it could never truly shelter her as it does in the dreams. The flowers she picks lay scattered in torn up petals around her, instead of in pretty little chains. The pond is still and dull, with no bright red fish and only a distant, pale little girl looking back at her when she bends over it. The only red she sees is in the heavy eyes of the girl's face, and even then, the colours are hazy and weak. The girl in the water blurs into grey, and Dany reaches up to wipe her eyes. Her hand comes away wet.

Sound comes back to the world eventually, but it is angry and piercing. There are men inside the house, arguing with Viserys. She wants to hide in that moment, but the tree is no true shelter, and the thorns on the bushes won't refrain from pricking her like they do in the dreams. She stays out in the garden for quite a while longer, because she is afraid of what she'll find in the house, and because she has nowhere else to go.

Viserys comes for her in the evening, and his face clearly says that today is a bad day and she must do as she is told. He tells her that the servants are wretched, that they've taken most of what they own and that the two of them can no longer stay here. He says she must pack whatever she has left, and be quick about it, that Ser Willem had arranged for them to head somewhere shortly before he passed.

Dany doesn't really understand what Viserys is saying, but her feet carry her to her room nonetheless.

The little silver and golden necklaces and bracelets that have been gifted to her on each of her namedays are nowhere to be found, and nor is the purple dress that Ser Willem once bought for her. Viserys's words begin to sink in, about how the servants have stolen from them, and her throat begins to close uncomfortably.

Viserys grows impatient eventually and pulls her from her room when it becomes clear that there's not much Dany can take with her. He already has a satchel ready, and a scroll of parchment that bears the seal of House Darry clutched tightly in one hand. Dany recognises the plowman on the sigil, and remembers Ser Willem teaching her about his own house, back in Westeros. All of a sudden, her eyes are full of tears again, and she pulls at her brother's sleeve in a strange desperation that she herself doesn't quite understand.

'Where's Ser Willem?' she asks, her mind swirling blankly. She forgets the old knight's cold skin in that moment, forgets how quiet he was, forgets how his eyes didn't open that morning when she kept asking him to wake up, forgets how Viserys had told her to wait in her room when they had come to carry his body away. She thinks Ser Willem must still be in his room, waiting for her to come and read a story with him. He was always the one to take her outside the house and through the streets, to the market and to the docks. They can't leave without him. She doesn't want to.

Viserys pulls at her arms and twists slightly. It burns. 'You stop that,' he tells her, in the quiet kind of anger, the type that comes before she wakes the dragon. 'You just _stop.'_ Viserys's face is screwed up, his body trembling in rage and something else, something Dany can feel coursing through her as well. His eyes are glistening too.

The men come, and Dany recognises a few of them. One is a steward, another a merchant who often came to visit Ser Willem. Not all of the servants have gone, Dany realises in a moment of delirious joy, before she looks at all their faces and finds no kindness, no sympathy, no true familiarity. They wish Viserys and his little sister the best of luck, but their words are cold.

And then Viserys and Dany are being steered towards the front red door, on the other side of the house from the garden with the lemon tree and the pond, and Dany keeps turning her head, watching as the door closes behind them. They are on the steps now, looking out at the darkened street in the dim twilight. She is crying now, begging Viserys to tell her what is happening, asking if they can go back inside and she can go play in her garden, or else hide away in her room. He doesn't answer any of her questions. He simply stares ahead with a face like cold steel, and then he is pulling her along, away from the red door to the house with the garden. Dany is sobbing, so much so that she can barely hear her own frantic thoughts, screaming that this simply can't be right, because she has seen the future with Jon, a future she promised to Ser Willem. And it is good, it is happy, it is perfect, and it _can't be this-_

Her brother's shouting was always terrible, but somehow his silence is even worse.

* * *

 **My GoT Tumblr: _jonathansnowflake . tumblr . com._**

 **If you want to directly message me, I'm also available on my main blog _(rezeren . tumblr . com)._ I've been swapping urls around, so that one no longer leads to my multifandom trashheap (said multifandom trashheap now has the name spookyscarywhitewalkers, which I'm both amused by and completely ashamed of. It's cringy af but it makes me laugh).**

 **Anyway, sorry for any feels caused by this chapter. I believe I mentioned in the last one that Ser Willem didn't have much time left. He canonically got sick when Dany was 5, and died an unspecified amount of time later, so I took some liberties and decided it's been several months and Dany is about 6 here. I age Jon and Dany up by roughly a year each chapter, although it might start to get quicker than that. As much as I absolutely adore writing the GoT characters as kids (as evidenced by this, _Summer Snows_ , and another idea I have in mind about Jaime and Tyrion), I am really excited to get to the main events of the show.**

 **The rest of Dany's childhood is gonna be pretty tricky to write, because from what I can see on the wiki, Braavos and Pentos are the only places she actually stays in at specified points in her childhood. Unfortunately, I've only finished the first two books so far (although with all the theory vids and meta discussions I indulge in on a daily basis, I'm no stranger to many of the major plot points in the novels). About halfway through aCoK, I finally accepted the fact that I have a serious reading problem, and so the audio books have been a big help to me since then. I've still got quite a way to go, but I do know that no matter how far I get with the books or with help from the wiki, it's gonna be pretty hard to write out the rest of Dany's childhood. We know that she and Viserys travelled from Free City to Free City, and eventually they wound up in Pentos, but there's not much to go on besides that. Subsequently, I'm probs gonna be aging her and Jon up a bit faster.**

 **I'm not certain yet (I've yet to write it, after all), but there's a good chance the next chapter won't be from Jon's POV. I knew when I started that Jon and Dany wouldn't be the only two POVs in this story, and so Ned Stark may be next, or at least sometime soon. I may mix the two of them together into the next chapter. I simply don't know yet. I'll absolutely be including Arya's POV later on down the line (I've finalised my plan for her, and as I said in the last chapter, she will _definitely_ be playing an important role eventually), and with Jon, Dany and Arya already covered, I simply can't resist the final member of my four favourite characters: Tyrion. I imagine I'll probably be using Jorah, Sansa, Bran and Davos too.**

 **Anyway, I have huge brainstorms for this story. I know exactly where I want this to go, and the idea for the AU itself has opened several doors for me. But that's probably all I should say for now, or else I'll be spoiling as much as the season 7 leaks did (and that's _really_ saying something).**

 **I may be posting a Jonerys/Gendrya fic sooner or later. I know it's probably already been done several times, but I really want to write a canon divergence fic where Arya heads to Dragonstone in season 7 upon learning Jon is meeting with Dany there. I've planned this one out quite a lot, and even started the first chapter, so I'm hoping to post it at some point.**

 **(I was meant to start replying to comments and I still haven't got round to it yet, soz. I'll try and work on that.)**

 **So yeah, if you have any questions (or suggestions, I really do love suggestions), feel free to message me on one of the aforementioned blogs, or in a comment. I'm gonna try and make a info page for this fic on my GoT blog like I did with one of my other fics and then (ideally) the A/Ns won't be so ridiculously long.**

 **Thanks for reading, and remember to review!**


	5. The Lost Princess

**V**

 **THE LOST PRINCESS**

* * *

 **JON**

* * *

She doesn't know the truth about him; and even if she did, Jon hopes that she wouldn't care.

He feels as if he should _know_ that it wouldn't matter to her, because he trusts her as much as he trusts Robb, and Robb has never paid mind to it. Even when they argue and bicker, when they've hurt each other's feelings, Robb never mentions it. When they were very little, if they were ever at odds, Robb may have occasionally boasted about how he would be the lord of Winterfell one day, as a way of inserting some sort of childish superiority, but never had he mocked Jon's own status.

It became something of a great relief to Jon, that Robb never cared. That Lady Stark never turned him against his half brother, which is something that Jon secretly fears.

Because while Robb never treats him any differently, something is beginning to change with Sansa.

She is already quite the little lady at only four years of age, obedient when her septa or her mother instructs her to behave in a particular way. She sits up straight and tries never to slouch when she dines with her family, and always ceases fidgeting when Septa Mordane raises her eyebrows. Sansa has never really been one for the exciting games, like play fighting and rolling around in the yard, but she often participated in small ways, usually as a fair maiden or even a princess to be saved from a fearsome monster. Nowadays, although she still does play with them, she spends more time with her septa indoors, beginning to learn needlework and other ladylike activities, or playing with dolls alongside her little friend Jeyne Poole, the steward's daughter.

On the days that she joins the boys outside, she sticks closely to Robb, insisting that he be the knight to protect her, not Jon. Once, Jon had suggested that perhaps he could be her knight as well, and that she didn't have to only have one. Sansa had frowned at him, and shook her head, then stared at her feet and refused to speak until Robb and Jon conceded. Jon had done straight away, quite disheartened by his sister's coldness. He wanted to ask her what he had done to upset her, but she wouldn't look at him. Robb, meanwhile, had defended Jon. He told Sansa she was being silly, and that Jon made just as good a knight as him and she ought to stop pretending Jon wasn't even there. Sansa started crying at that, and had raced off back inside.

Robb and Jon were sent to their rooms as punishment for upsetting their sister. Robb had huffed and complained a great deal, whining that they hadn't done anything wrong and that he had only been telling Sansa that she should let Jon be a knight. Lady Stark scolded him a great deal and sent him packing. Although Robb was the one who got shouted out, Jon still felt as if his brother was the lucky one. The scolding didn't seem all too bad compared to the icy fury on Lady Stark's face when she had looked at him.

She hadn't needed to speak a single word to Jon. Her eyes said everything.

She isn't his mother. It shouldn't matter to him, just as the fact that he's a bastard doesn't matter to Robb.

It shouldn't hurt.

It does.

The next day, Robb was solem. He hadn't wanted to play any games with Jon, nor did he show an interest in anything Theon suggested. Out in the yard, while they waited for Ser Rodrik to line up the targets for an archery lesson, Jon had finally asked what was wrong with his brother.

Robb hadn't wanted to tell him at first, but he gave in after a sufficient amount of pestering. He had spoken to Sansa that morning and asked her why she had behaved the way she had the day before. Without Jon around to hear, Sansa had been honest in quite a blunt way, not old enough to put the matter subtly.

'She'd asked Mother why she never hugs or kisses you,' Robb explained. 'And Mother had told her that you weren't her son.'

Lady Stark had clearly told Sansa more than just that, but Robb didn't say anymore. He didn't have to.

It doesn't matter to Robb that Jon is a bastard, but it matters to Sansa.

It isn't her fault, Jon tries to remind himself. She is so young, after all, and her mother's influence is clearly at hand. But Jon is young too, and it is hard to be reasonable when faced with the look Sansa wears on her face these days whenever she looks at him. Sometimes, childishly, he wants to shout at her, to tell her she's being mean and he's done nothing wrong. But he's terrified of the punishment Lady Stark might have in store for him if he does so. Father won't be able to protect him; he'll be angry too. And despite it all, Sansa is his sister. A half-sister, yes, but family all the same. He misses her. She still lives in the same castle as him and they still play together with Robb sometimes, but it's as if the little girl from before the incident is gone. As if he has lost her.

Sometimes, in the midst of a game, she forgets, and he sees a glimpse of the old Sansa. She'll giggle and run around with him like nothing has changed, a small girl with smooth auburn hair flowing in the breeze and a huge smile. But she always remembers eventually. They'll go back inside and she'll run to her mother or Septa Mordane, and the happy moment will come to an end. And the next time they see each other, she will be wearing that look again.

One thing does come as a comfort to him, however, as the weeks pass by. Although he has lost a sister, another has grown to bring warmth to Jon's chest and a smile on his lips.

Arya is two years of age now, and she is quite the little adventurer. She learnt to walk quickly, but spent the first year or so on her feet being shepherded around by the septa, too young to play with her elder siblings. She is finally allowed to run around now with them, and unlike Sansa she doesn't seem to mind rolling around on the ground with Robb and Jon. Theon calls her a boy sometimes, and while Arya doesn't understand it, Jon is less than impressed. He once kicked Theon in the shin for it, knowing that he could get away with it. Theon wouldn't run and tell- he was far too proud for that.

While Sansa always clings to Robb, Arya follows Jon around like a shadow. At first he had found it confusing, and perhaps just a little annoying, because how was he meant to sneak into the kitchens and grab treats if there was a tiny child in tail? He would get caught, for certain. He had almost told her to go away at first, but the thought had seemed wrong immediately. Sansa had gone away in a sense, and he hated that. He hated being made to feel like he was an outsider, like being a half-brother was as good as being a stranger. Besides, the way Arya had beamed up at him with grey eyes just like his own, shining, was… endearing. Eventually, he had taken her with him into the kitchens, although no doubt she would have followed regardless. He had swiped a little slice of cake off a table for her, and the two snuck out without getting caught, which had sealed their bond for good.

It's familiar, in a sense. Similar to his friendship with his brother, no doubt. Arya may be a girl, but Theon is right about one thing: she plays like a boy. Jon knows when she is older, she'll likely become ladylike as Sansa has, and that one day Lady Stark will tell her whatever she pleases about Jon. And then he'll lose what he has with her, like he did with Sansa. Or perhaps, he might dare to hope that things will stay the way they are like they did with Robb. His bond with her will stay intact, and she'll won't care that he is a bastard.

Robb isn't all Arya reminds Jon of, though. There is something else about her that is familiar, and it isn't something he likes to think of much, these days. There's a twist in his stomach when he remembers, and he does remember an awful lot; when Robb asks about her, when Theon teases him about his dreams, when he lies awake at night, waiting for sleep to claim him. Hoping, _hoping_ that she doesn't know, and she wouldn't care if she did, that this isn't the reason she has left _…_

It's been fifty-eight nights since he last saw Dany.

* * *

Her real name is Daenerys. Jon already knows this- after all, he's heard her older brother Viserys shouting it plenty of times in the past. She was named for Daenys the Dreamer, who saved her family from the Doom of Valyria after she dreamt of what was to come. Dany had believed that they were just like her, that their dreams were of the future too. A happy future for the two of them, where they could meet each other for real. Jon believed it too- it sounded so good, so perfect, so…

Wrong.

Perhaps they were wrong after all.

Not much is said of Daenys the Dreamer in the book Jon and Robb find. It mentions her of course, but only in a small space halfway down the page, and some of the words are long and foreign. Jon is reads well for a boy his age, but he doesn't recognise quite a few of the words.

Help comes in the form of Maester Luwin. He is the one who finds the book for the boys, after they come to the library, following a lesson, and Jon shyly asks for a book on the Doom of Valyria. Maester Luwin is unable to locate a book that focuses on the event alone, but instead finds one on the history of House Targaryen, which is good enough. Jon takes it gratefully and settles down on the floor between two bookshelves, skimming through the pages curiously, while Robb squirms impatiently beside him. The sort of thing would be boring for Jon too on any other day, but it feels important now.

'I must say, boys, I'm surprised you asked for the book,' Maester Luwin remarks as he appears round a shelf with a bemused smile. 'Pleasantly surprised, mind you. I do encourage an interest in history, of course- it is a crucial thing to understand- but I didn't think you had much enthusiasm for this sort of thing. Wouldn't you much rather be with Theon right now? We don't have any more lessons today.'

'It's all Jon's idea,' Robb grumbles. 'I wanted to spar.'

Jon shakes his head at the old man's question and holds up the book. 'Maester Luwin, what does this word mean?'

The maester comes closer and peers at the page, taking the book from Jon's hands. ''Greyscale',' he reads out, from where Jon's finger points when both boys get to their feet. 'It's a disease. The ruins of Valyria and the peninsula around it are home to those with the affliction. A rather disturbing subject, Jon. Why are you reading about it?'

'We're reading about the Doom,' Jon says. 'I want to know about Daenys.'

Maester Luwin blinks. 'Ah, Daenys Targaryen. How did you come to hear about her?'

Jon can't think of a good enough answer, but fortunately Robb jumps in. 'Theon, I think,' he says. 'He tells us lots of stories. He says his maester taught him all of them.'

This isn't altogether a lie; Theon certainly does have stories of great wars and mighty warriors in history, proud to remember all of it and eager to boast about it, and Robb is always entranced. Jon is slightly more sceptical. Theon isn't really the sort of person who would pay Daenys the Dreamer any mind. He's always more interested in the knights and kings and legendary heroes, never the women.

It's a better excuse than claiming that the story came from Old Nan. She only ever tells tales of the North, and of ancient legends of creatures from beyond the Wall.

Although eager to help his brother, Robb is still clearly bored, and his interest has been spiked by another subject. 'What does greyscale do?' he asks. 'Does it kill you?'

Maester Luwin sighs. 'Unfortunately, yes. It's really not a thing for young boys such as yourselves to be hearing about-'

'We're almost men grown,' Robb says.

'In a good few years, I should think,' Maester Luwin chuckles. 'If you must know, those who come into contact with the afflicted become infected. It gradually turns the skin to stone, which after time leads to madness and eventually proves fatal. I wouldn't worry about it, Robb. There have been very few cases of it appearing in Westeros.'

Robb looks far from worried; in fact, he is quite attentive now, all traces of boredom gone. Jon too is intrigued, struck with an image of the statues in the crypts coming to life and attacking them. Instantly, as he shares an excited look with his brother, he knows they'll be making a game of it by the end of the day.

He is so interested, in fact, that he almost forgets the original conversation, and the reason he came here. 'Was there greyscale in Valyria when the Doom happened?' he asks quickly, hoping to bring them back to the main topic at hand.

'No, no,' Maester Luwin says. 'Valyria in its prime was far from the barren infected ruins it has become today. It was said to have housed the greatest minds and learnings the world was ever to see. It was truly magnificent, the greatest city to ever be built.'

'Greater than King's Landing?' Jon asks. Neither he nor Robb have ever seen the capital, of course, but they've learnt plenty about it from the maester himself, and many others who have been. Father doesn't speak of it much, and he has made it clear that he doesn't think much of it, but it must be plenty grand if it's the capital of Westeros and home to the King himself.

'Far more so than any city in Westeros,' Maester Luwin confirms. 'Nothing could compare to Valyria. It was the home of great men and their dragons, and knowledge far superior to anything we may ever learn now, I fear. Now, you wish to know about Daenys?'

Jon nods eagerly, even if hearing her name each time sends a little twist through his stomach. It sounds too much like _her_ name, and thinking about her hurts.

'She was the daughter of Lord Aenar Targaryen, the head of their house at the time,' Maester Luwin says. 'Theirs was one of many families who rode the dragons, and they were far from the most prominent family in the Valyrian Freehold. After his daughter spoke of a dream in which Valyria burned, Aenar moved his family and their five dragons across the Narrow Sea to Dragonstone, which became their ancestral seat. Their flight was regarded as an act of cowardice by many of the other families in the Freehold, until of course the Doom occurred and the Targaryens were all that was left of Valyria after that.'

'But how did she know?' Robb asks. 'How could she dream about it? Magic?'

Maester Luwin smiles softly. 'Magic is somewhat of an anomaly, to put it simply. There are maesters who study the practices ancient arts, and many more who abhor the very idea of magic and its existence. Most agree that some form of magic existed in strange and inexplicable ways, but that it has long since vanished from the world. It is widely believed that magic died along with the last dragons, so it is relatively plausible to assume that those with the blood of Old Valyria may have possessed certain… gifts. After all, the Targaryens and others like them were renowned for being rather unique. Taming the dragons was one thing, but, well… they were always claimed to have the blood of the dragon.'

'So they were part dragon?' Jon says, full of wonder. Does that mean that Dany has dragon blood?

'It is believed,' Maester Luwin says carefully, 'that the Targaryens could do more than just ride their dragons; they were _connected_ to them- and to each other, too. When Rhaenys and her dragon fell, it was said that Aegon and Visenya felt her death before learning of it, and there are many accounts from over the following centuries of the Targaryens sharing visions and dreams.'

Jon feels as if all the air has been stolen from his lungs in that moment, and he gapes at Maester Luwin in shock. Beside him, Robb too is stunned, but he is looking at his brother instead, excitement brewing in his eyes. Jon glances at him and a sudden burst of panic runs through him; what if Robb says something about Dany? About how Jon shares dreams with her? The adults aren't supposed to know Dany is real. While Jon may have been determined at first to prove that he wasn't lying, or just playing a game, he has since promised Dany not to tell anyone who she really is. It's a secret, a very important secret, and it must stay that way.

Robb opens his mouth to say something, but fortunately Maester Luwin speaks first. 'These may all be rumours, I'm afraid,' he says. 'There's no conclusive evidence that the Targaryens truly did possess such phenomenal gifts. A few who document the history of their family theorise that perhaps they once did have these abilities, but they died alongside the last dragons, and that the last members of House Targaryen likely don't have them at all.'

'The last members,' Robb echoes, squinting in confusion. 'The Mad King? But he's dead.'

The old maester grimaces. 'No, child. His children. The two younger ones, who ran to Essos.'

'Oh!' Robb says, remembering. 'Theon told me about them! They're still alive, aren't they? But they're never coming back, because of King Robert.'

Maester Luwin nods, and Jon feels something painful stir in his stomach. 'Yes. Because of King Robert.'

* * *

Afterwards, Robb is ecstatic.

'You're like them, Jon! You have special dreams, just like they did.'

Jon glances around uneasily as he picks up his wooden sparring sword. Ser Rodrik is close by, and a couple of the guards are making their way across the yard. Worst of all, Theon is approaching, and Jon certainly doesn't want him to hear any of this.

Robb pouts for a moment. 'I wish I could do it. I wish I could have the dreams.'

Jon blinks. Is Robb jealous?

That's absurd. After all, Jon has always been envious of his brother, not the other way around. Robb is the first born son of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn, and a trueborn Stark. He's going to be lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North one day. He's better than Jon at almost everything; sparring, making friends, riding…

Jon's just the bastard. The bastard who once shared dreams with a Targaryen princess.

'Why do you think you have them?' Robb continues, and there certainly is somewhat of a sour whine in his voice.

Jon tries to ignore this in favour of his own curiosity, for the same question has been burning in his mind since Maester Luwin mention the legends of shared dreams. According to the maester, only the Targaryens are believed to have been able to share visions, which means that Dany truly is a Targaryen. He never once thought she had lied about it when he had asked her, but some strange doubt had always lingered; perhaps because the people of Winterfell speak coldly of the Targaryens whenever they are mentioned, because Prince Rhaegar was the one who took his aunt Lyanna and King Aerys killed his grandfather and uncle. They were the enemy in a war that ended when Jon was born, and so it has always been easy enough to fashion them as villainous and cruel in his mind. But at the same time, the games he and his siblings play are far more than that. When they play _Wolves and Dragons,_ their very own reenactment of Aegon's Conquest and of how King Torrhen Stark bent the knee to him, Jon is the one who always plays as Aegon. He doesn't feel as if he, and Sansa and little Arya, who pose as Rhaenys and Visenya at his and Robb's instructions, are bad. When they play other games about famous Targaryen stories, Jon idolises them, and he knows the other children do too. The Targaryens are never bad in his games- or in his dreams.

Dany isn't bad. Not like King Aerys or Prince Rhaegar, who must have been her father and brother. Not like Viserys, who still shouted and screamed the last Jon heard of him, all those weeks ago.

Only the Targaryens had those dreams, Maester Luwin had said. If any of that was true to begin with. Dany could have the dreams, but Jon shouldn't be able to. He's not a Targaryen, he's a- well, he may not be a Stark either, but he has Stark blood. Whomever it was Father took to his bed, whoever Jon's mother may be, she couldn't have been a Targaryen. Father didn't have any personal relations with any of them, good or bad. It was Aunt Lyanna who was taken by Prince Rhaegar. It was Grandfather and Uncle Brandon who died at the command of the Mad King. It was King Robert who fought Rhaegar on the Trident. Everyone knows the story. Father was always somewhere else. At Winterfell, or else fighting the war elsewhere.

Perhaps Jon's dreams aren't special at all. Perhaps they're all made up, and Dany is no more than a game. Because although he had once promised her he was real, he had not asked her to do the same for him.

No matter how real they felt, how _special_ they felt, how real and special _Dany_ felt, it's all gone now. Most of Jon's dreams now are ordinary and dull, and he oft forgets them by the time he breaks fast in the mornings. He still comes to the garden every so often, but it is empty and withered with no life left in it. Dany had said it must be their future, but nothing happens to change the way things are now. The garden feels like any other dream. Like it isn't real at all, and as if although all the bright and vibrant hues have moulded into a dusty grey, the garden is finally showing its true colours.

Whether the dreams were real or not, what mattered about them may be truly be over now.

This is what scares Jon the most.

* * *

The weeks turn into months, and his uncertainty and fear turn to anger and sorrow.

He still keeps track of the days as best he can, but it really is difficult as time passes. He's always learnt his numbers well in Maester Luwin's classes, and it helps to scrawl whatever day it is down whenever he can, but it's easy for him to forget sometimes, and it was even tricky to begin with, back in the early days when he didn't know he'd need to count. Back when he still expected Dany to show up any night. Back before he realised something had changed.

It was never unusual to go some nights without seeing her. Jon has always had ordinary dreams too, beside the special ones. He'd see her often enough, sometimes several nights in a row, sometimes every two or three nights, but never more than a week apart. But now, almost half a year on, Jon's dreams are as empty as ever.

He had still come to the garden to begin with, but it had wilted and greyed and no sound could be heard; not the light breeze rustling through the leaves of the lemon tree, nor the sweet songs of the pretty little birds that used to swoop above the children's' heads. The only good thing to ever come of this was not having to listen to Viserys shouting anymore, but his absence left no charm or bliss in its wake. The silence was not peaceful. The garden was dead. And gone was the little girl hiding under the tree, making chains with all the flowers she could find, playing with the fish in the pond and racing around the garden, laughing.

Nowadays, he finds himself coming to the godswood more and more in his sleep, and he wonders if that might mean something important. The Targaryens had their special dreams, and perhaps Jon did too, but mayhaps the northerners have their own too, dreams filled with snow and distant, howling wolves and the rough old faces on the bark of weirwood trees.

While the godswood was once somewhere forbidden and haunting, it's become a new and exciting place to visit in the day. Unlike when he was very little, Jon and his siblings are allowed to come to the godswood without supervision. He and Robb are old enough now, and as long as they promise not to climb the trees and stay away from the pool beside the great weirwood, they're allowed to bring Sansa and Arya with them and watch over the two girls. Jon likes these days the most, and he supposes this might be why he has begun dreaming about the godswood. Theon never comes. He seems rather uncomfortable being so close to the northern gods, or perhaps he simply dislikes them. He believes in the Drowned God from where he is from, and the godswood is no place of worship for him. Granted, prayers are the last thing on the children's minds either when they come here to play, but Jon isn't about to complain about the older boy's absence.

A summer snow a few weeks before left a light layer of white on the ground, but most of it melted quickly into the damp earth. Arya hadn't cared at all; this was her first time seeing snow. She had jumped around excitedly, and nearly fallen into the pool before Jon was able to pull her back.

He loves being with his siblings, even if Sansa behaves strangely around him and Lady Stark always glares when they all come trudging back into the castle together. His brother and sisters are as real as he is, part of the same waking world as him, and he won't ever lose them the way he lost Dany.

Even now, in the dead of night, as he stands knee-deep in snow he has never seen so heavy in real life, he feels as if he belongs. The godswood is frightening at night, admittedly; but then, almost anywhere is. Aside from a very slight breeze, the trees around him are quiet. It's somewhat similar to the silence that fell upon the garden, only it feels natural. The leaves rustling in the breeze and the wizened face on the bark of the weirwood tree watching him with its red, weeping eyes make the wood feel alive. It's unsettling in its own way, but less so that the garden. The face is almost frightening, and it never fails to send tingles down his skin, but Father always says the gods watch over them through its eyes.

He used to tell Dany about it. She'd once even suggested carving a face into the lemon tree so the northern gods could keep watching over him in the garden, and mayhaps she would get to meet them.

He closes his eyes, blocking out the sight of the weirwood tree. Even here, thoughts of Dany find him.

* * *

Jon doesn't know what to do.

Back when he realised Dany was a Targaryen, she had made him promise never to tell anyone. Jon had sworn not to do so, because Dany was just as dear a friend to him as Robb and he never wanted anything bad to happen to her. Because that was possible, Dany explained. 'Viserys says bad people want us dead,' she had whispered. 'No one can know.'

She trusted him with her deepest secret, and in that moment he had come so close to doing the same. But he was filled with worry in that moment, because it was _Theon_ of all people who had been the one to suggest that Dany might be a Targaryen. He and Robb already have the notion in their heads, despite it never having been confirmed to them. And now a third person is going to learn the truth, because the words won't stop pouring out of Jon's mouth.

'I never told her my secret,' he says, his voice shaking. 'And what if she found out? What if that's why she left? Because she hates me for being a… being a b-bastard, or because I kept it a secret. And I shouldn't have done that because she trusts me and I should trust her too, and I do, but-'

He is rambling now, choking back sobs. He keeps glancing around the statue next to him, worried someone will come by and hear him. But the small archway is vacant besides the two of them, and the courtyard to his left is bustling with the usual castlefolk, all busy with their work and errands. No one can see the two small children hiding behind one of the stone direwolves.

'And now I'm breaking a promise,' Jon says, taking a deep shuddering breath. 'You're never supposed to break promises, you know. I swore I'd never tell anyone the truth, b-but I don't know what's wrong or why it all stopped and what if something awful happened to her?' His vision blurs with tears and he blinks. 'What if the bad people found her?'

The idea is far worse than even her hating him. Thinking of it makes him feel sick.

'I don't know what to do,' he sobs, feeling the tears begin to trickle down his cheeks. 'I don't want her to hate me and I don't want the special dreams to go away forever and I don't want her dead. What if she- she really is? W-what if sh… she's…'

From her own spot against the wall, tucked in behind the statue even more so than he is, Arya stares up at him, her grey eyes wide and her head tilted slightly. 'No?' she says, reaching up with her hand to touch Jon's cheek. Her fingers come away wet. _No_ is one of the few words she knows, and she uses it whenever she sees or hears something she doesn't like. Jon knows deep down that she's only saying it because she doesn't like seeing him cry, and he loves her for it. But in that moment, he wants to pretend it's the answer to the question he can't bring himself to finish.

He had to tell someone. It couldn't be Father or Maester Luwin, because the grownups wouldn't believe him or understand. It couldn't be Robb, whom he knows would listen. He trusts Robb as much as possible, but he made a promise never to tell anyone, not even his brother.

But Arya, who always follows him around with a gap toothed grin and shining grey eyes, is the one who has found him crying. And he knows, seven hells, he _knows_ that he shouldn't be telling anyone, not even his dear little sister who is crouching beside him in the shadows, trying to wipe his tears away. But she doesn't understand what he is saying, not really. All she knows is that Jon is hurt and angry and scared, and this is exactly what Jon needs right now. He cherishes the companionship and the comfort, and his little sister's smile most of all.

Only in this moment does he realise how lonely he has truly felt.

* * *

He still misses the garden, even though it's gone. Perhaps, like rain, Dany was always what brought life to it. It was _her_ garden after all, and without her, it has withered away. He misses how it used to be, back when it was special. It hasn't lost its value because the plants all died or because he no longer dreams of it.

It stopped being special because she was what _made_ it extraordinary.

Not simply because she could make strange things happen, or because she was the daughter of a king, and the blood of the dragons themselves. Not because she was Daenerys Targaryen.

But because she was Dany.

* * *

He finds her under the weirwood tree.

Her feet are bare, her skin almost as pale as the snow she stands in. The cold must elude her in the dream the way it does with him, or perhaps she simply doesn't care about it. Her silver-gold hair, white in the moonlight, is longer than before, falling past her shoulder blades now and laced with snowflakes that continue to fall. She is looking up to the blood-red leaves, black as the night sky at this hour, her body still. Her dresses were always colourful and elegant, made with fabrics Jon has never seen at Winterfell and in designs no women of the north wear. But the dress she wears now is faded and plain, a dull blue that looks more grey than anything now.

'Jon,' she whispers when she turns to him, and although everything else about her seems worn and weary, her eyes shimmer.

He says nothing. He's had plenty of ordinary dreams in which she finally came back to him, and none of them have felt as real to him as this. He wonders if he should dare to hope.

'Are you real?' he finds himself asking eventually.

'Yes,' she says quietly, her voice shaking.

'Promise?'

'P… promise.'

Now they have both sworn it to each other, and Jon prays that it is true. 'Where were you? You were gone a long time. The garden's gone as well, now. It's supposed to be our future.'

'… It was a lie,' Dany says after a few moment's silence, looking down at her feet.

Jon feels something burn against his stomach and his throat clenches. 'You lied?'

Dany shakes her head, looking back up at him in shock. 'No,' she croaks. 'The dream lied to us. It showed us something happy. But now everything's bad.'

 _Everything's bad because you left,_ he wants to shout at her, a sudden burst of anger heating up his cheeks. But it washes away as quickly as it came, because how could there ever be room for it, now that he's filled with hurt and confusion and relief?

'Jon,' she says again, her eyes welling with tears, and he sees it all on her face too, as clear as daylight. 'I w-wanted to come. I wanted the garden b…ack. But it's a lie, and it's gone, and I'm n… never going to see it again. Or Ser Willem.' She shudders. 'I w-want it all to go back to how it was. I want to go back. It's all gone wrong and I don't know where I am. We keep l-leaving and I'm hungry all the time and Vis won't talk to me except when he shouts and I… I w-want to go _home…'_

She takes a wobbly step forwards and falls to her knees, silent tears streaking down her face. He does the same, although he isn't sure if he falls to greet her or if because he too is crying. The children meet in a small snow mound, reaching out desperately for each other's embrace. They shuffle clumsily in a blur of tears, until the two are lying side by side, arms wrapped around each other.

Jon and Dany lie there for a while, their sobs as silent as the slow snowfall and the clutch of trees all around them, both simply quaking against the other. Jon finds himself crying out of shame and relief, because bad things _were_ happening to Dany and he was worried about her hating him this whole time; because she's finally here and she loves him as he loves her, and he knows her, trusts her, _missed_ her.

'I'm not a Stark,' he says eventually, after some time has passed. The two lie still, staring up at the black sky and the pale, fluttering snowflakes trickling down from above.

'I know,' she murmurs.

'I'm a bastard,' he says, not an ounce of fear in his heart as he feels her warmth beside him. 'I'm Jon Snow.'

'I'm in exile,' she replies. 'I'm Daenerys Targaryen.'

He already knows this, and she knows that he does, but they also both know why she tells him. If he is going to let his status devalue him, then so shall she with hers.

'You're Dany,' he tells her, because that was all that ever mattered, right from the start.

'You're Jon,' she tells him, her voice as soft as the snow beneath them.

All they can hear are each other's breaths, words, heartbeats. The snow keeps falling peacefully, while the face on the weirwood watches over them. The world is quiet.

* * *

 **My GoT Tumblr: _jonathansnowflake . tumblr . com._**

 **My personal blog (on which I can be messaged): _rezeren . tumblr . com_**

 **Some info about my writing and the content I'm comfortable with cuz some people had questions: _rezeren . tumblr . com [slash] about-me_**

 **Okay, I'm gonna try and be as quick as I can because it's 5am here and I am completely goddamn exhuasted.**

 **1) Sorry this took so long. I'd throw in the usual excuses about college and mental health, but I've actually been sick from college for months now, and while my physical health has been fucking appalling, my mental health is going... surprisingly well? Better than usual, anyway. So yeah. No good excuse. Sorry again.**

 **2) The 'she loves him as he loves her' line. I probably don't need to explain this, but this isn't romantic love yet. They're little kids. They love each other about as much as they can in whatever special form it is at that age, and honestly, I felt pretty good writing that line out.**

 **3) Dany's absence: in case this one isn't _as_ clear, mostly cuz I don't explain it at all lmao, it's the trauma from the last chapter that affects her ability to come. Whether she wanted to be there or not (and she did, she really did. Jon is exactly who and what she needed to offer her comfort), I wanna establish a flimsy connection between them at times. Their emotions and health can affect these dreams.**

 **4) I hope y'all liked Maester Luwin's take on the Targaryens. There will probably be more on that next chapter.**

 **5) Speaking of next chapter, that one will definitely be Ned's perspective. I was originally planning on doing that in this chapter, but Jon's POV felt more fitting eventually.**

 **6) I've replied to most of the comments, but I still need to get round to a few of them. Sorry that's also taking an absolute age.**

 **7) RIP dream garden. It's the dream godswood's time to shine.**

 **8) Have I mentioned how much I love Arya Stark? I'm gonna continue making that very, very clear.**

 **9) 'He's not a Targaryen' Jon you sweet, summer child.**

 **10) Okay I should probably stop now.**

 **Sorry again for the wait. I hope this longer than usual chapter makes up for it. Thanks for reading, and remember to review!**


	6. Suffer the Children

**VI**

 **SUFFER THE CHILDREN**

* * *

 **EDDARD**

* * *

Eddard wakes before dawn after a sleep filled with anguish, to find the world around him far more peaceful than that of his dreams, yet sombre all the same.

He allows himself a few minutes of his usual reverie, intent on allowing Robb to sit with him this very morning for a meeting with an envoy from White Harbour. The boy is eight and bright with enthusiasm, no matter how surely the meeting shall bore him. He holds his future in great esteem, but shows to be humble too. Ned oft worries Theon Greyjoy might inspire arrogance and an abundance of pride in his eldest, what with how Robb seems to cling to the ward's every word. But Robb is a good boy, Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik Cassell always say, and has a good aptitude for all the skills befitting of a young lord. Ned thinks perhaps he himself has a little too much boasted pride when he thinks of his son, but he has it in good faith that it is not misplaced in the slightest.

He hears these same things from Luwin and Rodrik about another too, but as Ned blinks away the sleep and tries to hold all thoughts of his dreams away for a short while longer, he shuts out these echoed praises and turns over to his side, trying to find something, _anything_ , to occupy his mind...

Catelyn sleeps peacefully beside him, pressed against his arm. Several strands of her auburn hair lie across his chest, and he finds himself smiling gently. Where once, not too long ago at all, they would have found themselves oft lying apart at the edges of the bed, they now fall into an embrace. At the beginning of their marriage, once he had come back from the war, she had kept to her own chambers to begin with. Robb was only a few months old and so she felt he needed her. It was perhaps the biggest reason Ned now has for loving his wife- her devotion to their children truly knows no bounds. When Sansa had come along, and Arya after that, Catelyn had twice again opted to spend at least the first couple of months alone with her girls at night, and Ned could almost believe that was the only reason she and him had spent their first few months as lord and lady of Winterfell the same way. But back then, they were still strangers.

And back then, there had been a great wound, freshly cut and divisive as a great jutting ravine between two mountains. A wound to his honour, and to hers, and the marriage they had just begun. It has dulled and faded now, as all wounds do, but the scar still lies visible for all to see.

Robb had come too early to be the true answer, and as their firstborn and a boy, he was more than just their child. He was the legacy of House Stark, something for more than just his parents. Sansa, meanwhile, had been their true bridge. Her arrival in the midst of a short but bitter winter had been a spark of hope- not just for the coming spring, but for their marriage. Ned watched how Cat doted on their girl, just as she did with Robb, and he had known then that he would love her, if he didn't already. Cat must have felt it too, for when she looked at him afterwards, there was warmth and pride. When Arya came along, Ned and Cat were content in each other's arms, and happy to lay not as strangers, but as man and wife.

He blinks away the sleep, gazing blearily into the dim. The sun can't have risen yet, but soft streams of early morning light trickle through the window nonetheless, and he knows it can't be too long now. He means to shift slightly- he has come to rest in an uncomfortable position during his fitful sleep- but he doesn't wish to wake up his wife.

It should only be another three months or so before the children have another brother or sister, and Maester Luwin says all seems to be well. Ned watches Catelyn and the swell of their child underneath the furs, and thinks quickly that he should ask her to allow the cot to be brought in here. It's unconventional, but the thought of spending weeks alone in bed is suddenly daunting. He'll tell her he won't mind the babe crying at night, and he will be glad of their company.

But not today. He looks over to the window and gives a low, quiet sigh, hoping Cat won't wake just yet. But if his fitful sleep wasn't enough to awaken her, he doubts she'll stir now. The night is not over just yet, and as unpleasant as his sleep has been, the day ahead shall be harder still.

It's Jon's nameday. It has been eight years since Lyanna died.

* * *

 _Keep him safe. Shield him from harm. Protect him._ The words fall on him like knives some nights, sudden and painful. When Mother had died, Father had told him and Brandon that the pain would remain but it would grow easier with time, just like a bad wound that need time to heal.

Benjen, the tiny, wailing newborn, would never know any different to the life without a mother. And Lyanna, little more than a babe at the time, was unaware of what she and her brothers had lost.

Would she have told him this, had she ever known her father's words? Would she have told him it would eventually heal? Would she have known how wrong she was?

It had been hardest at first, of course, but Ned had had distractions- an _insurmountable_ amount of distractions. All of a sudden, the war had ended, his sister was gone, just like Brandon and Father, and he held in his arms the biggest secret of his life, the biggest secret in all the seven kingdoms. A small boy with a fortunate likeness to his mother, to Ned himself, and the living legacy of Lyanna's pleads, and Ned's promise. The only lie worth telling, no matter what it has costed him.

And besides all this, he now had both a castle and the North itself to run, as lord of Winterfell and Warden of the northernmost kingdom. And he was a father, too- not just to Jon, his surrogate child, but to Robb, his son and heir, who had been born while he was gone. Before Ned had reached Dorne, after learning of his son's birth, he had held so much hope for what this all meant; that he would hold his own son in his arms, just as Mother and Father must have done when he was a babe, that he would watch his little boy grow up, safe at Winterfell where they both belonged- once Ned could return to Riverrun and take his new family back there, of course. And finally, that their first child together would bring love to him and Catelyn, that they would no longer be strangers and that they might build something good together. Once he found Lyanna, once the Targaryens were defeated, once the country would find peace…

Ned had always been relatively sensible and grounded in his youth, but idealism had still preyed on him nonetheless.

The Targaryens hadn't just been defeated- they had been _slaughtered._ The children had been draped in the Lannister colours and thrown at Robert's feet, mangled and bloody beneath the cloth. No one had raised a hand against it, against the soldiers who stood proudly before the carnage or the man who had stabbed the king he was sworn to protect. And Lyanna, wild, good Lyanna, had died in a pool of her own blood, begging her brother to protect her child.

 _Aegon Targaryen,_ she had whispered, and Ned had known, even before she faintly explained it, that she loved Rhaegar. That it all had been a lie. Benjen had confirmed it when Ned finally arrived back at Winterfell- not in so many words, but in the anguish and guilt he wore openly like a heavy cloak of regrets, until he learnt to mask his thoughts and had resolved to leave for the Night's Watch. In the slight dim, Ned's mouth curls into a small, sad smile at the thought of his brother. Many years have passed and he had never held any blame for him to begin with. He wonders if Benjen finally believes this to be true.

A raven not two weeks earlier had announced Benjen's short, upcoming visit. For all the eyes of Winterfell, it is simply because it has been too long since his last visit, that he is more than just an honoured guest. A sworn black brother, true, but a Stark nonetheless. People shouldn't think anything of it. Ned only prays for this. It's not as if this is a yearly occurrence; merely a rare visit, spurred by nothing in particular. It would have been better to wait for the babe to be born, in truth, and to claim the arrival to be for the celebration. But Benjen had insisted. For their sister, and for her boy.

Jon won't know today is his true nameday. He believes it to be in a few weeks, to avoid any suspicion about it coinciding with when people know Lyanna must have died. Ned has never told him the truth, and he certainly doesn't intend to anytime soon. Mayhaps when his future is set in stone, whatever may come, and old wounds have been given more time to heal. After Robert's death, Ned supposes morbidly, before closing his eyes. It is a terrible thing to think of. Whatever his faults, whatever threat he imposes, Robert has been his friend since boyhood. When that day comes, Ned hopes it will be far away down the line.

Let Jon grow old in ignorance. Mayhaps never even let him know…

* * *

It is a warm day; not too humid, like so many other recent days of this long summer, but comfortable. The children are already amusing themselves outside when Ned has attended to his morning duties. His youngest has taken a great liking to Jon, and as he steps out onto a parapet around noon with Jory Cassel and the envoy from White Harbour, here to discuss issues with a trading route following the destruction from a recent storm in the east of the Barrowlands, he spies them down in the training yard, chasing each other and laughing. Robb is elsewhere, likely with Theon Greyjoy, and Ned knows for a fact that Sansa and Arya are both meant to be with Septa Mordane. While Sansa may have obeyed, Arya is already showing signs of being difficult. He wouldn't go as far as to call it bad behaviour- one look at the flushed, grinning face of his daughter as she attempts to catch Jon and he knows he could never call it _bad._ She'll need to learn she can't simply do as she likes whenever it pleases her, of course, and he will see that she heads over to her septa once he has finished with the envoy… but he cannot deny how pleasant the sight is.

And how saddening it is as well.

It's poetic, he allows himself to think quickly as the envoy continues on with his report, how a child beginning to show resemblance to Lyanna, both in looks and temperament, seems to adore Jon so. Mayhaps they are drawn to each other for this, or for reasons unbeknownst to him. Mayhaps the gods are playing a cruel jape, or they mean to simply amend things by replacing the mother Jon could have had with a sister so devoted to him. Mayhaps none of this means anything at all. Ned doesn't like to dwell on such matters, but on today of all days, it is hard not to.

'Lord Manderly has already sent forty men to oversee the clearance, my lord,' the envoy is saying. 'He expects it to take no more than a few days. The river took much of debris downstream, and there are several points along it to attend to. What worries Lord Manderly is the delay in shipping lumber…'

Ned sighs. 'What of the castles bordering the river? What help have they offered?'

The envoy grimaces. 'The Hornwoods and the Lockes have sent men to assist with the clearance, but as of yet there is no scheme in place for distributing the lumber across land if need be. A delay of but a few days is not too troublesome of course, my lord, but should the efforts to clear the debris prove more arduous, we may be faced with more time.'

Ned weighs his options carefully. Sending his own men might help, if only he knew that they might arrive before the task was completed and their journey would not be in vain. There's also a hunt on the morrow in the wolfswood; the whole castle is in a buzz, preparing for it. Most of his men won't be available for this task further south. He could cancel the hunt, of course, but it would be a waste to simply throw away weeks' worth of preparations. He even promised to let Robb and Jon accompany the hunting party. It will be their first one, and they're both so excited…

'You have quite the problem on your hands,' comes a warm voice Ned knows all too well, and he turns to find his brother stepping out on the parapet to greet them. Benjen is still clad in his riding cloak and breeches, and despite the hard ride and the exhaustion that is clear on his face, he still shoots Ned a grin.

'Surely the Manderlys have plenty more men to spare?' he suggests. 'White Harbour is hardly empty.'

'Many are elsewise occupied,' the envoy tries to refute faintly, but Benjen isn't listening anymore. He strides over to his brother and the two envelope each other in a tight hug. For one, shimmering moment, Ned feels all of twenty and one again, shaking with grief and relief for finally standing within the walls of Winterfell again with the last of his family, besides his new wife and son, and Lyanna's boy. Benjen had been little more than a boy, and his denamour then could not be more different from now.

 _I'm sorry,_ had come trembling from Ben's mouth, over and over until he was hoarse from sobbing. _I should have told them, I should have said something._

Benjen is still smiling as he and Ned step apart now. The envoy mumbles his pardons and leaves the two be, which Ned is thankful for. He'll have to address the matter later, but not right now. Now is not the time for that.

Benjen's eyes flicker down towards the courtyard, and his while his smile remains, shock consumes his face. 'Gods be good, Ned, is that _Jon?_ He truly has grown since last I was here.'

Ned smiles too, joining his brother's gaze to look down at the children. 'Aye, he and Robb both. They're convinced they're almost men grown.'

Benjen laughs, before turning his attention elsewhere. 'And this must be Arya,' he remarks, his voice a little quieter than before. He is silent for a moment, simply watching the children play, and Ned is struck with how familiar this all feels. He wonders if Benjen too is reminded of his times scuffling in the yard, with the sister they both must be thinking of in this very moment. The lord of Winterfell is privately relieved that they're just a little too high up for Benjen to make out Arya's face. He would see Lyanna in her too, Ned is certain. He was just a child when she left, but the two were always closest.

'She has our likeness, doesn't she?' Ben says finally, his face all smiles once more. 'Unfortunate child.'

'Ben,' Ned scolds him.

Benjen raises his hands in protest, chuckling. 'I jest, Ned, you know that. Nothing wrong with the true Northern look, eh?'

'Uncle Benjen?' comes Jon's voice from down below. He stares up at the two men in astonishment, before his face splits into a delighted beam. 'Arya, that's our Uncle Benjen!'

Benjen turns to Ned, highly amused. 'You didn't tell them I was coming?'

'I thought it best to surprise them,' Ned replies.

* * *

The hunt goes forth as planned the following day, and, as promised, Jon and Robb come along with the party. They, along with Theon Greyjoy and a couple of other lads of an age with the boys, stick closely to Benjen throughout the day, once they learn that not all of a hunt is chasing down prey. For the most part, the day goes without incident, save for a couple of rabbits and a doe. The boys amuse themselves in other ways. Soon enough, at their request, Benjen is regaling them with recounts of his times ranging beyond the Wall. Ned only overhears snippets of his brother's stories, and they seem mostly uneventful, but they still seem to provide enough to keep the boys interested.

It isn't until the subject of girls of all things comes up that anything noteworthy happens.

Theon has always been quite insecure. Ned has known this since he first brought the boy to Winterfell. It drives everything the young Greyjoy does, from playing at being a man to forcing a pure wonder of the Iron Islands and their customs on anyone who will listen. And it just so happens that Theon has a new claim to boast of, one Ned has already heard rumours of through Robb.

'I could never go to the Wall,' Theon offers around midday, clearly with half a mind to try and impress Benjen, who to this point has garnered all the attention. 'As grand as it may be, I'm afraid I wouldn't wish to give up the Salt Throne. Besides, to swear off women altogether? I wouldn't dream of it.'

Out of the corner of Ned's eye, he watches his brother smile thinly. 'Is that so?'

Theon nods seriously, and Robb and Jon both snort with laughter. The ward flushes.

'Is it not the same for you?' he fires at Robb. 'You'll be lord of Winterfell someday. You'll find a good match, as shall I. And even Snow has his Dany.'

It is Jon's turn to blush. 'That's not how it is.'

Benjen seems a little more interested now, and Ned feels much the same. Without showing it, he listens as closely as he can.

'Who might this Dany be?' Benjen asks.

Jon shakes his head and mumbles something under his breath.

Theon is relentless. 'She's his little lady,' he says smugly. 'Only he sees her at night and never in the day, and no one else has ever met her. You see, she's in his _dreams.'_

The men and boys around them begin to chortle in amusement, and Jon looks as if he wishes he could melt into the saddle of his horse, the way he shrinks and looks to the ground in humiliation. Ned feels anger stir in the pit of his stomach; for as intrigued as he has grown to become at the offhand mentions of the mysterious Dany, he wishes not to see the boy in such distress.

'Enough,' he says gruffly. 'You won't be hunting down anything with all this noise.'

That shuts Theon right up. The idea of catching something seems to satisfy his need to impress anyone more than weak boasts.

Jon remains quiet for the rest of hunt, but Ned does catch him smiling gratefully at him when he thinks the lord of Winterfell can't see.

* * *

That night, the castle has a large yet humble feast.

They rode down a boar in the end, and it had caught a good chunk of one of the horse's legs with its tusk. The poor animal had of course been put down, which had been a little upsetting for the boys to watch. But Robb and Jon had handled it well when the horse fell down, and had chattered away excitedly about the day's events when the hunting party begun making its way back to the castle.

They all sit now at the head table, and there is a layer of tension that goes over the childrens' heads. Everyone but Jon, at least, who is is quiet and reserved, keenly aware of how strange this is. He oft eats with his siblings on ordinary nights, but whenever Winterfell hosts a feast, Catelyn insists that he is seated elsewhere. Tonight, however, Benjen is hearing none of it. He requests that Jon sit beside him, and loathe as Ned is to displease his lady wife, he is privately grateful. This is how it should be. If only Cat knew.

Perhaps he should have told her. Perhaps he still should.

Jon is soon coming out of his shell, thankfully, as Benjen begins telling him more stories from beyond the Wall- such as how he and his black brothers once spied a shadowcat feasting on the carcass of elk calf from a high up ridge on the side of a mountain, or the time a group of wildlings had ambushed their camp at night and the rangers had fought them off and won. Jon seems enamoured with the stories, and Ned is relieved to find a great deal of tension has lifted from the table. Even Catelyn seems more at ease now, as she listens to Robb babble cheerfully about the hunt.

Once their plates are clean and their bellies full, little Sansa stands and, with encouraging nods from her mother and septa, begins to sing _Mother, Maiden and Crone_ , which she has learnt all the words to. Ned feels his heart swell with pride at his daughter's sweet voice. She is only five, yet she already has true talent. The child soon begins to beam at the rest of the hall, once the early nervousness washes off. Beside her, Arya squirms and giggles.

Sansa is met with a round of applause and deep praise from around the table when she is finished, and her face is flushed almost as red as her hair. Ned beckons her to come to him and he places a big kiss on her forehead. Benjen does the same, and Jon looks as if he might do it too out of courtesy- but Ned glimpses a brief shared glance between the boy and Cat, and her look says it all. Instead, he smiles weakly at his sister and slumps back in his chair.

 _Gods be good, Cat…_ Just one night. Ned would only ask that of her. One night for more than just Jon's presence at the table. One night for him to know he _belongs._

But Ned can't blame Catelyn. He can't resent her for it. Gods know it has driven him senseless over the years. Even irrational, he remembers painfully. She had asked him once who Jon's mother was. He had reacted poorly. It- it had simply been too much for him. In that moment, he had stopped reasoning with how much hurt this must be causing Cat, how much it must be insulting her honour. She had asked him, and for a split second all he had seen was Lyanna in her pool of blood, and all he had felt was the _injustice_ of all of it, that she had barely lived to see womanhood, that she would not see Winterfell again, that she would never hold her boy in her arms or watch him grow. And he had snapped at Cat. He had told her never to ask of Jon's mother again.

She has kept silent about it since, and although this was exactly what he asked of her- no, what he had _commanded_ her- he feels wrong. Cat is too cold with Jon, too intolerant, but Ned knows there is more to her than that. He has seen the love in her eyes with her children, with him, and he has felt it for her. She had not deserved that. Not after the disgrace he has put her through.

If only she could treat Jon well.

But it's too much to ask of her. Too wrong to command her. And too late to tell her the truth.

* * *

He and Benjen find themselves in the godswood that night.

Ned doesn't often come to pray past sunset, but he does enjoy the peace and quiet on occasion. The woods are secluded in the day as well, truth be told, but only at night when the sounds from the castle have ceased does Ned truly feel isolated. He might be alone, if not for his brother and the face on the weirwood. Those dark eyes carved into the pale bark watch them from the moment they step out into the clearing by the pond.

'You should see them beyond the Wall, Ned,' Benjen says, resting a hand against the heart tree. 'The weirwoods. You head far enough out, you can still find them in clumps. Just like the stories Old Nan used to tell us, about the times before the First Men came and cut them down.'

'I can imagine.' And that is all should ever hope to do. Ned has no desire to ever see the lands north of the wall.

Benjen breathes out softly into the cool night air. 'Honest, Ned. It's not something to easily picture. Imagining it doesn't do it any justice when you see it yourself, I assure you. I sometimes wonder why we abandoned those lands forever. For all the tales of White Walkers and how the great war was won, you'd think we'd have tried to reclaim them.'

'They were never truly ours to begin with,' Ned says.

Benjen laughs. 'Is that not true of all of Westeros? But I understand. It's too damn cold up there, too dangerous and useless for living a good life. But it's not just that. The lands beyond the Wall are something else entirely. Too unknown. Too… daunting. They could never be tamed. I've been ranging for near on six years now and something about those lands still bothers me. There are weirwoods there, aye, plenty more than the rest of Westeros. But I feel alone. I could be with twenty of my brothers and surrounded by wildlings on all sides and still, I feel it. It's as if no gods watch us there, trees aside. As if no gods could help. And- gods be good, I've had far too much to drink.'

Ned feels a shiver creeping up his skin slowly, like a little spider scurrying up his back. 'No, Ben,' he says. 'Carry on.'

'I'm talking rot, Ned,' Benjen groans. 'Ignore me. They're just wild lands. Just endless forests and mountains reaching into the skies and- and- just what the rest of the country was. Before the First Men. They likely felt the same as I, but it mattered not to them. They made their home here.'

There is silence for a few moments, as the two let Benjen's words settle. Ned briefly wonders what the children would make of this, or Maester Luwin. Robb and Jon are enthralled with Old Nan's tales of the Long Night and the White Walkers, but what would they think if they heard a chilling, very real account of what Benjen truly thinks of this whole other world, so close yet so distant all the same? Would Maester Luwin have an explanation for how Benjen feels when he goes north of the Wall, or would he simply dismiss it?

There are lots of things Ned thinks Maester Luwin may just have an explanation for. If only he could dare to risk asking.

'This is not all that concerns you, is it, brother?' he says slowly, and he looks to the eyes on the weirwood as he asks. He isn't sure what answer he's praying for exactly, but he prays all the same.

Benjen sighs. It is long and deep, and far beyond his years. He was just a boy when he left, and Ned still can't help but picture him as such on most days. But here, right in front of him, he can see how much his brother has grown. Even in the dark, the lines of worry can still be seen etched into his face, and he stands tall and sombre as any statue of the lords in the crypts.

Quietly, Benjen begins his story.

Ned listens closely, dread clawing at his insides. For this has been what he has feared, ever since he heard Ben wished to come to Winterfell to mourn Lyanna's eighth year passing. Benjen has never done this before. The whole reason he left was because he couldn't bear to face it with Ned by his side, couldn't bear to sleep in the halls that she had once slept in too. And yet now, he had announced his visit, frantic and nervous. Ned had known, deep down, that something had changed. And as he listens now, the rest of him, the part that had been in denial, slowly resigns to it.

When Benjen has finished, Ned closes his eyes. 'It could be another Jon. It's a common enough name.'

'He called him Aegon first, Ned,' Benjen croaks. 'No one thought anything of it to begin with. It's not uncommon for him on bad nights, or when he is not feeling well. And he was suffering from a bad fever at the time. We all heard of the things he was saying. The names he was calling. It's usually… it's usually Egg, though. He oft calls for Egg. But this time, it was Aegon. And then Jon. He mentioned R…' Benjen falters at the name, not quite able to speak it. 'He mentioned the prince too. He kept talking about the prince's boy, Aegon. But not his first son. _He said Jon, Ned.'_

'I heard you,' Ned says, feeling the cold sweeping over him properly now.

Benjen leans in closer, and his voice is barely more than a whisper when he speaks again. 'That's not just it. He spoke of another, too. He kept mumbling about the children, about a garden of sunshine and innocence. He said their names. Aegon and Daenerys. And then _Jon and Dany.'_

And finally, years of suspicion and fear are confirmed in a single heartbeat.

* * *

He had first started hearing the name Dany when Jon was small- only around four years of age or so. He hadn't even solely associated it with Jon- Robb had babbled about it just as much, and for a long time Ned believed Dany was merely some imaginary friend of the pair of them.

But when he had brought Theon back to Winterfell, things begun to grow clearer. Ned started to hear childish teasing, and had sussed that this Dany was Jon's creation, and that he had dreamt of her originally. Theon brought volume to the situation- more so that the loud yet seemingly irrelevant games of Robb and Jon that Ned and the rest of the castlefolk had dismissed before.

Ned began to hear more about Dany- that she was almost of an age with Jon, that she was the palest person he claimed to have ever seen, that her hair was almost _white_ and her eyes were _purple-_ and while Robb listened in awe and Theon scoffed at Jon's stories, Ned had watched from afar and felt something very uncomfortable begin to fester deep within him. To children as innocent and as young as his boys, of course it would seem magical, incredible, and near impossible.

But Ned had seen silver gold hair and eyes as violet as the southern flowers in spring. And he began to wonder just how much of a coincidence Jon's dreams could be.

Almost all children in Westeros will hear the tale at some point, as surely as they'll hear stories of the Long Night, of Summerhall, of the Rat Cook and of the Blackfyre Rebellions. Whether entirely true or woven in myth and legend, children will hear of these things from their maesters and wet nurses, as sure as the sun will come up each morning. Ned remembers it faintly from his own boyhood, recalls many nights spent curled up with Brandon, little Lya and baby Ben, listening to Old Nan's stories. He remembers more clearly a later time, at the Eyrie with Robert Baratheon, hearing for the first time the legend of the dragon dreams.

The maester had told them all about Aegon and his sister-wives, of how Rhaenys had fallen and Aegon and Visenya had felt it. How this apparent gift had passed down through their line, and some of their descendants were rumoured to share more than blood and beds, but dreams too.

There was even a belief- whispered only once far enough away from King's Landing- that the king himself was one of these gifted few, but he did not hear his wife or children in his dreams, but rather the voices of the dead. Robert had told Ned of this rumour after their lesson, claiming that his father Lord Steffon had forbidden speak of it back home at Storm's End, for the man had been friends with King Aerys since boyhood, and cousins longer still.

But in the Vale, rumours could run as freely as the mountain streams, trickling over precipices. Robert was far more outgoing than Ned in every single way, and he was oft to hear of things before his friend.

'It's not just in his dreams,' Robert had told him. 'He hears them in the day too. He sits on the throne and listens to their whispers. They tell him if someone wants him dead- and I suppose they'd know all about something like that.' He'd laughed then, because everything, no matter how true or serious, was a joke to Robert back then. He'd even gone as far as to wonder aloud whether he might bear witness to the famed dragon dreams, for his ancestral roots and his grandmother Rhaelle, who had been Aegon the Fifth's daughter. Robert had more than his fair share of Targaryen blood in him, and this was a time before the very notion repulsed him.

In Ned's experience, maesters never seemed to know if the tales of the dragon dreams were just that- mere tales passed down through generations, so fanciful that even he Targaryens chose to claim and perhaps believe they possessed the gift- or if there was truth to the matter, and the legends were true.

It had never been a particular interest of Ned, especially once the Targaryens were all but gone. In fact, he'd outright chosen to put the Targaryens out of mind once the war was over. He didn't want to think about Aerys, who had burned his father and had his brother strangled; Rhaella, who died in childbed and likely never deserved the terrible fate that befell her family; her two youngest, somewhere far away across the narrow sea and hunted by spies and assassins; their brother Rhaegar, who had started this all and enamoured wild Lyanna; his children by Elia, mercilessly butchered along with their mother and given no justice in death; and finally, Jon- or at least, the blood inside him. For Ned could hardly put his sister's child out of mind now he was in his charge, and nor did he wish to do so. It got easier over time with Jon, for the boy had all Lyanna and next to nothing of Rhaegar in him, and the longer he had the babe in his care, the easier it was to see him as in own and feel it as deeply as he did with Robb, and the daughters who followed along. By the time Dany had begun to appear in Jon's life, it took no effort to see the boy as his own son.

So he had thought nothing of it. He hadn't suspected back then. Why should he? What would even be the likelihood of the gift ever existing, let alone it still residing in any of the very last Targaryens?

Let alone it finding its way to a child with the dragon's blood only half as strong in his veins.

But when Maester Luwin had reported to him in casual passing that Jon was showing more of an interest in history- _Targaryen_ history- the seeds of unease began to spread in Ned's gut. Luwin was completely oblivious, no doubt relieved that at least one of his students cared for their studies, especially seeing as how Jon had been more withdrawn than usual. Plenty of the castlefolk had noticed Jon's mood, and how it lasted for several months and seemed to have no obvious cause. Gods be good, even little Arya seemed to know something was wrong with Jon. While Ned had spent many long hours wondering just what was upsetting Jon, Arya had clung to him even closer than before, until eventually something had changed, and Jon had begun smiling again.

But the topic Jon had been most interested in was that of the dragon dreams, according to Maester Luwin, and no matter how much Ned had tried to reason that Robb too had been curious, albeit less so, that the boys simply wished to know more for material for their make believe games, he knew that was not something he could simply ignore.

The final straw had come with talk of ghosts in the crypts, when Ned had decided to take Robb and Jon down there to show them the final resting place of their ancestors. Robb had asked if there were any ghosts down here, and that Old Nan said there were. Ned smiled and told them they had nothing to fear, but they should take care- not because of ghosts, but because this place was sacred to their family, and one day, when he was dead and gone, they would understand that. They hadn't lost anyone yet. They couldn't feel the weight of solemnity pressing down on them, the way Ned could.

Robb, ever the louder of the two, had begun whispering to Jon as soon as the three finally made for the steps to head back up again, and Ned had caught snippets of it.

'... see any like them? The ones you and Dany saw, remember?'

'I saw no ghosts, Robb. Why? Did you?'

'No! But you're the one who knows what ghosts look like. You must remember those ghosts you told me about! Theon said they were-'

'Theon doesn't know anything,' Jon had grumbled quietly.

'Theon said they were a prince and princess! The ones who died at the end of the war.'

Jon casted uneasy glances back at Ned the whole time as he followed the boys out of the crypts, but he held back as far as he dared and pretended he had something else on his mind and wasn't paying them any mind. He'd gotten used to doing this for real, as had most of the castlefolk. The excited chattering of children was far from concerning, or of a great interest to anyone.

This was different.

Could Robb be speaking of Aegon and Rhaenys, Rhaegar's children? Ned was sorely tempted to pass this off as folly, for the famed dragon dreams were one thing, but seeing ghosts was something else. This really could have just been some ordinary dream Jon had, surely…

But Ned thought back to his boyhood in the Vale, to Robert's claims of the Mad King hearing the voices of the dead. He thought long and hard about Rhaegar's children too- he'd never seen them in life, nor in death, thankfully; the Lannisters had wrapped them up too tight in their banners for their bodies to be seen, but blood had still seeped across the floor of the throne room as they were brought before Robert. A girl of three and a boy of one. Jon's own brother and sister, his _real_ siblings by blood. It could have been him. If Ned had not been the one to find Lyanna, if the Lannisters had taken Jon.

 _It could have been him._

* * *

'There's too much,' Benjen says, later on in the crypts, 'for it to all be circumstantial.'

A sudden snowfall has driven them both inside to seek warmth, although doubtless Benjen has endured far worse beyond the Wall. Ned himself is partial to the freezing winds. He has spent his whole life at Winterfell, and at the Eyrie, high up in the mountains of the Vale. The cold winds are nothing to him- or so he likes to tell himself.

Winterfell is far from the scheming pit of spies that is King's Landing, but Ned can think of few places in the castle where he might feel truly safe to speak freely. The crypts have always been a sanctuary of sorts, no matter how sorrowful they feel. For the godswood has naught but the face on the weirwood tree and the old gods themselves to bear witness to him and Benjen, and the crypts have the rough, stone eyes of the dead. And while it feels wrong to speak of dragons amongst the graves of wolves, especially with Father and Brandon watching over him from the shadows, their own remains a brutal reminder of King Aerys's madness, Ned still feels that this was the place to come. Where could be safer, than to speak of Jon before Lyanna herself?

'I have been thinking much the same, brother,' Ned sighs, his voice tired of recounting all this to Benjen. He has explained as much as he can, in as calm a tone as he can muster. Every last detail he can think of, from the talk of ghosts to Jon's questions about the Doom of Valyria and Daenys the Dreamer.

'So it must be true, then,' Benjen says matter-of-factly, in a voice far too calm. 'All those legends about dragon dreams. I… gods be good. He's a _Stark,_ Ned. He has nothing of the prince. How could this happen?'

'Nothing we can see, perhaps,' Ned murmurs. 'But his blood cares not for that. He _is_ a Stark. And he is also one of them.'

It's painful to say it, right here in front of Lyanna's tomb. To place Jon as an outsider, as only half one of them. But she had loved Rhaegar, truly. Had she not named Jon Aegon Targaryen? Had she not loved her boy as dearly as she could, in the short time that she had? She would be proud, Ned decides. Wild Lyanna, enamoured with challenging the world itself. She would be proud to call Jon both dragon and wolf.

'This…' Benjen draws in a deep breath. '... This Dany. Who is she?'

Ned closes his eyes. 'The Mad King's youngest, I suspect. The girl born at Dragonstone, smuggled away with her brother when their mother was gone and Stannis Baratheon was closing in. I hear she was named Daenerys. Robert mentions them in his letters every so often- Aerys's surviving children, somewhere across the Narrow Sea. He oft complains of loyalists still. He's convinced his rule will never be secure, not as long as the boy Viserys lives.'

'So the old maester was right about that too. He did call her that, in amongst everything else.' Benjen chuckles humourlessly. 'I do believe your friend is quite mad, Ned. Perhaps it was never the Targaryens that carried madness in their blood. Perhaps it's the throne itself that does it.'

'Perhaps it's both, perhaps it's neither,' Ned says stonily. 'It matters not, Benjen. Robert is our king, and my friend still.'

'A friend who would want nothing more than to butcher our nephew if he learnt the truth,' Benjen retorts. 'Tell me, brother, is Jon not a son to you now?'

'Of course he is,' Ned snaps.

'And should a son not matter more than this friendship of yours? Should it not matter more than anything?' Benjen's eyes are fierce in the candlelight. 'We take our vows up at the Wall knowing this, Ned. We know just how strongly the bonds of family are, and how hard it would be to give them up. To give up the prospect of a child in our arms or a wife in our beds. We take our vows before the gods, to spare us from this. For we have our duty to uphold, and there is but one thing that could fail us in our duty: a family of our own. We know better than most how important, how _invaluable,_ something that we may never have is.'

'Do not speak to me as if I understand nothing of honour,' Ned replies coldly. 'Did I not sacrifice my own, for the sake of Jon? Did I not shame my own wife, the mother of my children, so as to keep the boy safe? I know the love you speak of. I have this treasure you chose never to have. Robb, Sansa, Arya. The one on its way. And Jon. Always.'

There is silence for several tense seconds, then Benjen nods. 'Good. Then hear me, brother. Tell Jon the truth.'

Ned stares at him. 'You cannot be serious.'

Benjen looks older and wearier still in the faint light, far more so than he did before. Long gone is the boy, following Lyanna round and scuffling in the yard with her. Long gone is his childhood, his innocence. And he would wish that upon Jon, as well? To shatter the boy's world, to strike fear in his heart once he knows the truth about himself?

'When Aemon grew sick and spoke of the children, of Jon and Dany, I knew I had to come, Ned,' Benjen says. 'The old man loved his family, and would never speak of such things before others with a sound mind. Of that I'm sure. He won't be the one to put Jon in danger, not on purpose. But others heard, Ned, and word can always travel. Being up at the Wall keeps us far from the schemes of the rest of the country, I know, and our own plights and concerns go mostly unheard in turn. But I rode anyway, for fear of what this could mean. I didn't understand how Aemon could know of Jon. And now I do.'

'I've never heard Jon speak of your maester,' Ned says. 'He only ever talks about Dany.'

Benjen waves him off impatiently. 'I don't pretend to understand these dreams, Ned, just what they might mean. I had to know if you had discovered anything peculiar too, and, well… I suppose we've both learnt a great deal, now.'

'That we have,' Ned agrees.

'Which is why Jon _must_ be told,' Benjen insists. 'For what if others put pieces together too? What if someone learns of how our sister truly died, and searches for him? Jon has to know the world isn't as safe as he thinks it is. He must learn not to speak of these dreams to anyone, to keep all he knows of Dany to himself. Gods be good, she must be even younger than he is, Ned? What if someone learns of her whereabouts? She and her brother are hunted mercilessly by this friend of yours. Imagine if they were found.'

Ned thinks once again of Rhaegar's children. Of the crimson banners, so red that the blood blended easily, dripping, dripping, dripping…

He thinks of the tales he heard. Of what they endured before death. Of the princess hiding under her bed, of her being dragged out and brought to half a hundred thrusts of Armory Lorch's sword. Of how terrified she must have been, how she must have screamed. How small a mercy it was for the boy Aegon, who must not have understood anything at all at such a young age before the Mountain had smashed his head against a wall.

'I will not tell him,' Ned says. 'I will not frighten the boy. If he learns the truth, he will fear for his life. He's eight, Ben. I can't.'

Benjen's face twists with pain. 'Ned-'

'I will be strict,' Ned says. 'I will tell him to speak no more of the games of children. He and Robb are fast growing. They will need to leave boyhood behind soon enough.' But all the while as he speaks, he wishes deep inside his heart to let them play. To keep them innocent. To protect them in every way that he can.

He wonders if Daenerys Targaryen- _Dany,_ he chides himself, for she must be just as innocent and frightened in ways he hopes for Jon never to feel- has people who love her as much as he does his children. If there are those who would fall on their sword for her and her brother, if they were raised with love, and not just as mere instruments for a long lost cause.

He worries. He knows the girl only by name, only by how fondly Jon has talked of her over the years and from the small fragments of stories about their games together in Jon's dreams. And yet he worries still. Because she is a child, because she was born into a dangerous life, because of how much she means to Jon.

Because it would be monstrous not to care, not to remember what happened to her family and think of her own possible fate. Of _Jon's_ own possible fate.

All talk of Dany must cease at Winterfell, he knows. All talk of her must end altogether, lest others learn any more of her.

Benjen looks uneasy. 'If you're certain you know what must be done…'

'I am,' Ned says solemnly. Out of the corner of his eye, he makes out Lyanna's own stone eyes watching him.

 _For the children,_ he thinks. _For the children._

* * *

 **My GoT Tumblr: _jonathansnowflake . tumblr . com._**

 **My personal blog (on which I can be messaged): _rezeren . tumblr . com_**

 **Some info about my writing and the content I'm comfortable with cuz some people had questions: _rezeren . tumblr . com [slash] about-me_**

 **Man I sure hope I can actually write Ned properly. A little late now, though.**

 **So uhhh... sorry about the wait? I did large chunks of it every few months or so, which was kinda weird. I had to study pretty hard to get into uni too cuz I'd been ill for most of the college year, but hey. I'm here now. I've upgraded missing college to missing uni lmao.**

 **Seriously about the Ned thing, tho, I really do hope I captured his voice okay. It was a massive concern for me throughout the entire chapter.**

 **Other bits and bobs:**

 **1) Catelyn. I for one love her character and how complicated she is. While I'm not a fan of how she treats Jon (I mean who the fuck is?), as I'm writing from Ned's perspective, I wanted to show that he loves her, even if they do have a complicated relationship at the start.**

 **2) Jon's nameday. So I'm making good progress with the aSoS audiobook, and Jon does seem to celebrate his birthday. I wasn't sure if Ned ever told him when it was prior to this, and I decided that in this fic, Ned lied and told Jon he's a few weeks younger than he actually is so as to not let knowledge of it coincide with when Lyanna died.**

 **3) Hi have I mentioned I fucking love Arya Stark?**

 **4) I had a question about how old Jon and Dany are in each chapter. Basically, I age them up about a year each time I update up to this point in the story, but it's gonna start to speed up around here to make Dany's plotline easier to write, based on stuff I said in previous chapters about how little we know about her childhood. Jon is obvs turning 8 in this chapter, which would make Dany 7 here.**

 **5) I've thrown a couple of hints in this chapter as to certain things that will happen later on in the story. Have fun with that :)**

 **6) It should be Dany's POV next chapter. I already started writing it months ago.**

 **7) The title is kinda funny for me, cuz I mainly picked it after hearing it in The Walking Dead Game. But the origins of the phrase 'suffer the children' actually come from the Bible, and 'suffer' is taken to mean 'permit/allow'. Which is exactly what Ned is not doing at the end of the chapter, so it's kinda ironic. But I like the sound of it, especially with all the awful shit that is mentioned here happening to the Targaryen kids.**

 **So yeah, I should wrap it up here. It's 8:20am and I haven't slept yet smh.**

 **Thanks for reading, sorry again for the wait, and remember to review!**


	7. Her Brother's Token

**VII**

 **HER BROTHER'S TOKEN**

* * *

 **DAENERYS**

* * *

The polished gold, having dulled over time, still shines in a fashion all those silver necklaces and bracelets Ser Willem used to gift her couldn't quite manage to. They were never real silver- often common steel, Viserys says now. But they were still pretty. They were still gifts, given lovingly on each of her namedays.

Daenerys dares to peer at the crown in her brother's lap. She can just about make out her own face in its reflection, but she is not close enough and the metal is too dull now for her features to be clear. She wishes to hold it in that moment, to perhaps even place it on her head how her mother must have done. She could pretend she's queen already, the way Vis often says she will be. Even now, the thought still fills her with a small amount of excitement- for she does so love the stories of kind and wonderful queens that Ser Willem used to read to her, and to sit by her brother's side in a kingdom he says belongs to them would be…

Fanciful. Like her dreams of the garden. Though she is young and still hopes for greater things, Dany knows not to trust mere dreams now. Real life rarely offers such sweet endings.

Queen, she still believes she'll be. That part is not in doubt. Viserys swears they will take back the Seven Kingdoms, and he doesn't lie to her. He always tells her exactly what he thinks about everything. Including her.

What must Mother have looked like in that crown? Was she as beautiful as Viserys says? _Would I look like her, if I were to wear it?_ she wonders. _Do I look like her already?_

Will she enjoy it, when the day finally comes? Will she be loved by the realm, loved by her brother, or will her days come to an end the way the rest of her family's did?

 _Jon will love me,_ she tells herself. _And his father and Robb and Arya, and all of Winterfell too. I'm sure of it._

'Sit still,' Viserys snaps at her, and Dany realises she has been absent-mindedly tugging at the loose strands of thread on her dress. It's old and dull, a faded blue one from a marketplace in Myr that Vis had haphazardly selected without batting an eyelid. It's too small for her and tearing at the seams, and it itches something _dreadful,_ but Dany doesn't complain. She knows they must dress in simple attire when travelling between cities, or when out of the cover of the manses and castles they are occasionally welcomed into. Out here on the streets, she is not an esteemed guest, sister to the future king of Westeros. She is just a common girl, following her brother to wherever their path takes them next.

'Don't say anything,' Viserys reminds her shortly. It is the third time today he has told her this. She daren't say she understood the first time, however, for his temper is at a much shorter fuse these days. 'I must do the talking. You be quiet.'

He thinks she is going to cry, she knows. And looking at that crown in his lap, the crown of their mother's that they have kept onto and cherished since they fled Dragonstone, she thinks she might too.

Dany nods mutely and folds her hands over her own lap, trying to sit up straight and remain still. And she does. She stays where she is and says nothing when it is her brother's turn to meet the Braavosi trader at a stall filled with armour and iron garments. She closes her eyes when she hears that familiar accent drawling from the man's mouth in the Common Tongue, and tries desperately to pretend that if she doesn't look, Vis won't really be selling their mother's crown.

The tears are squeezing their way to the corners of her eyes by the time her brother returns. She opens them slowly, blinking furiously. Viserys mustn't see her cry. He told her not to do so, and he has too much on his mind already.

* * *

She and Jon don't see each other as often as before.

This isn't like those dreadful first months after Ser Willem died, when she thought she would drown in her tears each night for fear of the new day and what might happen to them, and the loneliness that tugged at her stomach like hunger. She had wanted to see Jon, truly she did. She had wanted to see Jon more than ever before. She wanted to be right about their future, about what the garden had meant for them. She would have given _anything_ to see him.

But her dreams had been filled with night terrors; the coldness of Ser Willem's skin or the steel blade of a cloaked killer. Viserys had always made sure she knew what would happen to them if the Usurper's men ever found them, but the reality hadn't really struck Daenerys until they were out on the streets with no walls to protect them or people around them to offer... to offer what? Family? Ser Willem may have been that once, but he is dead and gone now, and the servants were quick to steal and leave them, or throw them out the house once it was over. But with all the people around, Daenerys's small world had still seemed like something secure. Then again, she supposes almost anything must feel secure in comparison to a life such as this.

It doesn't feel better, even each time months of travel come to an end. It really had been quite nice at first, when their temporary lodgings around Braavos came to an end and Viserys led them down to the docks- the same ones Ser Willem used to take her after visiting the market, where she could watch the ships come to and from the city with their fabrics and spices and all sorts of other things. She did cry, of course; she realised that she couldn't be too far from their house with the red door, and that Viserys clearly wasn't taking them back. It hurt, too, because she had never come here without the kindly old knight. Without him to point at ships and tell her all about where they must be coming from, especially the ones from Westeros, everything had felt strange and distant. Nothing made sense. But nothing really made sense to Dany anymore anyway.

She had cried some more when they actually boarded the ship. She didn't want to leave Braavos, not now that Ser Willem wasn't looking after them anymore and she wasn't certain if they'd be safe. Vis had almost been nice to her on that day. He twisted her arm something awful to cease her cries, but he did let her see a map the captain had shared with him. It was just like one in a book of hers that Ser Willem used to read to her, one she'd had to leave behind. It was big one, so big that it included at least half of Essos, stretching out across a blank expanse that the ship's captain called the Dothraki Sea. She had pointed at dip of scattered islands at the bottom, sharing a very rare smile with Vis as her fingers traced the letters of Valyria, before he had gone back to speaking with the captain.

She had known she couldn't go there, of course, but it was far from what interested her the most. Because this map was more vast than Essos alone- along the left side, almost as tall as the shown section of Essos was wide, was Westeros. And, labelled just as elegantly as Valyria and all the free and slave cities alike were the castles, towns and cities of the Seven Kingdoms, dotted in abundance across the lands.

She spotted King's Landing easily enough, along with her birthplace of Dragonstone and Sunspear on the tip of Dorne, the Stepstones trailing off into the faded blue of the parchment. She and Jon had pretended to be pirates of the Stepstones oft enough when they were little, even dipping into the small pond once in a while to pretend their ships had sunk. The thought of this had helped dry her tears and soothe the aching in her chest as they sailed away from Braavos, and on their voyage to Myr- although one thing still troubled her a great deal, even if she couldn't tell Viserys.

Because no matter how much time she spent running along the deck and watching the sailors tying the ropes and adjusting the sails she would always find the captain and ask to see the map again. He was a good man, if a little intimidating, with a thick, scraggly beard and hard dark eyes, and he seemed to know who she and Vis were from how good he was to them with the large cabin he offered and the clothes he gifted them- or perhaps this was simply because these had been the early days, when they still had decent coin and their travels were still ensured by Ser Willem's contacts.

Dany looked at the map so many times on the way down to Myr. It was almost as if she expected it to change the next time, for Myr to be west instead, for their path to take them across the Narrow Sea.

She still cried plenty, and when Viserys woke her on the final day to say they would be arriving shortly, she had mournfully told him they'd gone the wrong way. Fortunately, he thought nothing of it and told her to wake herself up properly and prepare.

Parting with the captain and his map was harder than she expected it to be. Some part of her just assumed they would be staying with the ship and his crew from now on, that their time together would last longer. She would come to learn, however, that nothing would ever last as long as the house with the red door in Braavos- not the places, nor the people. And certainly not the large map that had been the focus of her thoughts for weeks on end. Not the section to the very left and near the top, strangely bare of the cluttered labels the rest of Westeros seemed to have.

'The North is very big,' Jon had told her once. 'But not many people live here. Everyone's spread out. Not like all the cities and towns down south.'

Empty as it always seemed, it made things a lot more clearer, nonetheless. For while Dany had found King's Landing and Dragonstone, Sunspear and the Stepstones, Highgarden and Casterly Rock and so many other castles and cities, she had spotted Winterfell first.

Nothing ever lasts. Not a home or its people, not even the Viserys she once knew.

Nothing but Jon.

* * *

Myr had been a relief in the end, as men were ready to escort them from the moment they reached the port. They were being hosted by magister by the name of Maroquo Hotoyor for a few weeks, and were very much the honoured guests as the last of a dynasty as he put it. It was in his manse that Dany learnt a new lesson about the world, in the servants who tended to her and those such as them that she saw out in the city, when the magister bid her escorts to wonder around and explore what would be only her temporary home.

The magister himself had plenty of the women in his household to come to him at night, which wasn't entirely a foreign concept to Dany. She had walked past plenty of pleasure houses with Ser Willem back in Braavos as a small child, but of course she hadn't quite understood what they were until Viserys had bluntly told her once when she had regaled him with stories of her day- although even after that, it still didn't make complete sense to her.

It's not as if it concerned her, anyway. Vis had told her she had to stay away from the servants, and even their families too. For what Dany was unaccustomed to were the whole sets of mothers, fathers, small girls and boys and even squealing babes in the manse, all living here like a castle back in Westeros. That's what she thought this was at first, until she was shooed away by an incredibly anxious washerwoman who told her the section she wished to explore was where the magister's servants lived.

Only she didn't say _servant._ She said something else. A word Dany recognised, even in this askew Valyrian they spoke here in Myr.

She could hardly bother Vis with her questions. He told her to play in the gardens and mind she didn't get in anyone's way, and to only bother him if it was something important. Dany felt it was important, but she knew Vis would see it differently. Because he barely blinked an eye at the families living in the manse who all wore the same simple yellow garb and the silver collars, and never spoke unless permitted to.

At least the servants back in Braavos had their own homes to go back to instead of the strange wing of the manse she daren't visit. Even if they did steal from them and leave, at least they chose what they did.

There were nine free cities of Essos, Dany had proudly told Jon when she was only four years of age, naming them all one by one and teaching him to do the same. But there wasn't much free about this one.

* * *

After Myr had come Tyrosh. It was on the journey to this one that Jon had come bounding into her dreams one night with a red face and a gap toothed grin and told her he had a new brother, named Brandon for their uncle. She had smiled and stayed quiet while Jon babbled on about the birth, the way Viserys always told her to be when he brought her along to his dealings with captains and traders. But inside, she had been miserable. Completely _miserable._ He had four siblings now, Jon. A brother of an age with him, a friend right from the start. Two sisters, one of whom had been sweet to him once and the other who utterly adored him. And now a little brother, for him to teach all his games and train with one day and occupy him in a life more real that their one in the dreams.

It used to be every night? Or had it been every other night, and they were too little to know the difference? Either way, it feels as if they're slipping, somehow. As if she and Jon are on two sides of a mountain, trying desperately to stay clinging to the top. Only the slate is giving way beneath their feet and they are tumbling down with the landslide, further and further down, further and further from each other...

She wonders if Jon worries too. No. She _knows_ he does. She remembers how upset he'd been when they hadn't dreamt of each other for months, and how relieved he was when he found her under the weirwood.

She just worries he doesn't need her like she feels she needs him. Because no matter how frightening it had been at first to come before the haunting eyes of the face on the heart tree, bare feet drenched in snow and alone but for the whispering of the leaves in the wind, it had been a dream with no cruel men and their knives. And eventually, for she hadn't had to wait long, it had been a dream with Jon.

Gods, if only he could be here. She'd have someone to play with in all the gardens of each manse, or on the streets each time they take off to find a new one, and especially on the ships.

Daenerys is nearing nine when the name of a city brings more to her ears than curiosity and dread. Viserys tells her they are meeting with a company in Braavos, and that they must return to meet an agreement and seal a deal. 'We're gathering our army, sweet sister,' he tells her, and even kisses her on the cheeks the way he used to when she was little. 'My rule is dawning.'

* * *

She spies all sorts of curious figures on the yellow roads between settlements and along rivers, but it is at the ports that Dany always finds the most interesting people. It always rings of a simpler time playing games with Ser Willem, to look at each ship and imagine the journeys they have been on and the ones yet to come. Which ones have come from Westeros? Which from the Summer Isles? Are there any from the distant cities to the east, the ones Dany privately hopes Viserys won't take them to? For as incredible as it would be to see all the places she has only read about and never heard about from any who may have visited, she despairs at the thought of heading even further from her homeland. From her birthplace and her brother's rightful throne, and from Jon and Winterfell and all of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.

No matter how safe she'd be, the further east she and Viserys head. No matter how little the chances would be of the Usurper finding them in Asshai or even further. She doesn't want to go.

She's afraid they'll never come back after all. That they'll spend the rest of their lives fleeing east, searching for an army that won't come to them and chasing a dream that must be as sweet to her brother as the ones of the garden and the godswood are to her.

But she needn't fear it just yet, if ever. She is at sea again, and finally sailing in the right direction. Oh, how she has missed Braavos- or at least, missed what she had there. It hadn't been as nice when they'd been cast out of the house- but they are older now, and have more allies and connections throughout the Free Cities. Viserys has been building it up over the last few years, and Dany has watched from the side.

And kept her mouth shut. Just like he tells her too.

She begins to wonder if he wants her to do it all the time, for he snaps at her for almost anything she says these days, and ever since their mother's crown left his hold he has started talking about her more.

She used to wish he would. Now the prospect fills her with fear.

Every mention of Rhaella is tinged with a venom, from his mouth and of her own making. Venom that took their mother from this world, so she could live. 'You took too long coming out,' he tells her one windy morning, as the ship rocks from side to side and Dany leans over a bucket, her stomach as choppy as the sea. 'You and all the others, you all went wrong. And you all made her wrong too. She died for each of you. You all took a piece, and yours, sweet sister, was the last.'

He is referring to the brothers and sisters who never were or never lasted; only recently has Dany learnt of all of her queen mother's miscarriages, and the babes that couldn't last more than a year. Rhaegar had been quite a bit older than Viserys, she always knew, but she hadn't known of all the dead who had come in between.

If she had, she ponders bleakly, she may well have brought them into that distant dream from long ago of Aegon and Rhaenys, so she and Jon could have played with them too.

'But Rhaegar and I, we never stole from her,' Viserys says from beside her. In the dim light of their cabin, he looks queasy too. He is fairing far worse than her and has been for several days now, and his pale, clammy skin reminds her of Ser Willem. She bends over and retches, finishing in time to hear him continue.

'We were strong,' he said. 'Rhaegar would have been King. I will be. We were both born for it. Perhaps his death is not such a tragedy after all, wrong though it was. He gave me rise for my throne. I will have it. I will…' He trails off, eyes wide and hair tangled and sealed to his forehead with sweat, and Dany thinks he may retch too.

'You shouldn't have stolen from her,' he whispers. He isn't even looking at her, or the wall his eyes have found. Viserys is far away in his own head. 'She shouldn't have given the last of herself to you. She should be here. Oh, she was beautiful. And Queen. You will be Queen, thief, sweet sister of mine, when I am King. You will-' He lurches forwards, suddenly, bile spewing from his mouth. The odour is foul enough already, and Dany stumbles to her feet, thinking she might just slip away while her brother is occupied.

The crew pay her no mind as she emerges above deck, shuffling quickly over to the side of the ship. She leans on the smooth, polished wood and watches the waves churn hungrily against each other, before realising it isn't helping ease her stomach. Instead, she watches a flock of gulls swoop by the sails and realises they must be close to land. The crew are already bringing crates above deck and shouting commands to slow the ship and bring her in. Dany watches in fascination. She doesn't understand any of it, and nor can she spot land yet, but it can't be too long now. They aren't supposed to reach Braavos for another few days, so it must be a smaller port for a drop off along the way.

She wonders how complicated it must be to hoist the sails and tie all the knots, or even to stand at the helm and steer the ship. If she knew all that, mayhaps she could help sail her own ship one day. And she could sail to Braavos whenever she liked, and then over to White Harbour. And then she could ride up to Winterfell and-

 _'Daenerys.'_

Viserys is by her side again, and he is angry. She means to apologise for running off without his consent but instead all she manages is, 'I would like to be a sailor. It would be quite fine.'

He pulls at her hair and twists it for this, and in the daylight above deck, she can see just how bloodshot his eyes are.

'Get back in the cabin,' he spits, and she does as she is told.

* * *

'Zal… Zaldrees…' Jon says, frowning deeply. 'Zaldreeses?'

Dany has to laugh. It sounds absolutely ludicrous in his accent. _'Zaldrīzes,'_ she manages between giggles, forming each syllable as prominently as she can- and in doing so, comes close to butchering the word herself. It sounds so inelegant right now, but highly amusing.

Jon simply stares at her. 'Zald… _what?'_

 _'Zuh,_ Jon. Not a _suh_ sound at the end. _Zuh.'_

'It's the same thing.'

'No, it isn't. And you need to roll the R more. Listen: _zaldrīzes.'_

Jon pauses for a moment, then says, '… Zaldr- Zaldreezees.'

Dany explodes with laughter and Jon begins to pout, his face flushing. 'It's not funny,' he protests. 'Maester Luwin never taught us any of it so I've never done it before and-'

'I know, I know,' Dany gasps, her grin wide. 'I'm sorry. It's not that bad, I promise. We don't oft speak it, anyway.'

'What's it even mean, anyway?' Jon grumbles.

'It means _dragon._ ' She shakes her head, still chuckling lightly. _'Zaldrīzo ānogar-_ the blood of the dragon. That's what Viserys says we are. He's the last dragon, he says, now that Father and Rhaegar are gone.'

There was once a time where she might have feared mentioning her family to Jon, for what he might think of them. But there's an unspoken understanding between them, present since they began dreaming of Jon's godswood together and they shared only the truth with each other. It's about the way they think of each other, what it all means and whether it has to mean anything at all. It's a safety, Dany thinks, a safety she can only dream of in the waking world. A respect too, for their distant worlds and for what they learn when they're apart.

History, family, war. It doesn't have to mean anything here. It doesn't have to _change_ anything. Here, he is just Jon and she is just Dany, and sharing a little piece of her own life with him needn't be harmful.

She knows Jon won't need Valyrian where he is, and doubtless won't really be able to share it anyhow for all the questions it is likely to raise, but she truly is enjoying it. And for all his brooding and struggles, she thinks he might secretly be as well, for why else would he keep asking for new words to learn?

'The last dragon,' Jon echoes. 'But what about you?'

'What?'

Jon tugs at the moss beneath him, tearing little patches here and there off the roots of the weirwood. He and Dany are somewhat cocooned at its base, mere feet from a glimmering pool that Jon has mentioned he and his siblings swimming in from time to time. It reminds her of her own garden, and how they used to sit under the lemon tree and watch the red fish skittering around in the pond. The godswood is far more unruly and wild, and even when the sun does shine it is unlikely to reach them under the thick canopy of leaves… but it does have its own charm to it. Even since she began traveling around with Viserys, she has yet to come across any place like this. She may have loved the garden, but she did so love her trips away from the house when she lived there. Being in the godswood feels as if she has been exploring wide and far, and come across somewhere far more peaceful and secluded than even her old home. They are entirely undisturbed here. There are no angry brothers shouting and screaming, nor the thought of people in a house watching her out of windows, ready to tell her off for soiling her dresses and running around with careless abandon.

It is just her and Jon. And the birds, although they are much larger and less colourful than the ones in Braavos. Dany thinks they look quite fierce in comparison. When she had first told Jon she thought they looked impressive, he had snorted and told her they were only crows.

'I mean,' Jon says now, 'that you're both… um… zaldree- zal-'

He really is trying. Dany feels bad for laughing, but he must know it was in jest.

'You're both the blood of the dragon,' he says eventually. 'So why is _he_ the last dragon? Aren't you both?'

A peculiar feeling pulls at her chest. 'I- I'm not a dragon,' she mumbles.

'I know that,' Jon says, rolling his eyes. 'You don't have wings. And you can't breathe fire.'

Dany raises an eyebrow. 'How do you know I can't?'

Jon laughs, then continues. 'I mean, why do you call him the last dragon? You're his sister. Shouldn't you be just as much one as him?'

It certainly sounds fanciful when Jon puts it like that. But Dany is just a child, and Viserys was born a man. He's the one who's going to rule one day, the one thousands will follow into battle and obey his every command. Viserys calls himself the last dragon, and as she knows all too well, he does indeed speak truly about these things. He never calls her anything like that.

'I… I'm a girl,' she says. 'And he's older, anyhow.'

If anything, Jon looks more confused. 'But… Visenya was older than Aegon, and she was a girl. And she and Rhaenys rode their own dragons and everything. Maester Luwin says they were just as much warriors as a man could be. He said there were lots of Targaryen women who were different from most.'

'It doesn't matter,' Dany says, despite the strange leap her stomach makes at the thought. 'I'm still going to be queen, Vis says.'

Jon appears to have difficulty understanding this too. 'How? Would you marry him?'

Dany nods. 'I'm still a daughter and sister of dragons, he told me. And one day the wife of one too. And mother, when I'm grown.'

The look on Jon's face is decidedly more disturbed than anything now. 'But- but he's your brother.'

Once again, as it does so happen from time to time, Dany is reminded of how different things are where he lives, and thinks back to the harmless arguments they had when they were little about how all sorts of things were supposed to be, back when they were too young to understand how very different their worlds were.

'Rhaenys and Visenya were Aegon's sisters,' she begins, privately a little nervous that Jon is too sickened by the idea to listen. 'My- my family were all-'

'I know,' Jon says quickly. He is still bothered, she can tell, but he is kinder than that. 'It's just… it's just strange to me, is all. Besides, do you even want to do it? To marry Viserys?'

Jon doesn't like her elder brother. She's known this for years, and she can understand why. But it makes her uncomfortable, especially when she thinks back to a time when she dreamt of a future they could all share together- she, Jon, Viserys and Ser Willem, Lord Stark and Robb, Sansa and Arya. Even if she knows now that it can never be as simple as that, even that she knows not all of them will be there if it ever does come true, it still saddens her to think that Jon only really knows the worst of Viserys. He has only ever heard her brother's rages, and her attempts to paint a nicer picture of her brother. But it doesn't matter how many tales she tells of how she used to sneak into his bed at night to hear his stories about kings and dragons, or how he'd read to her and stroke her hair and teach her Valyrian, just as she is now doing with Jon.

Because Jon has never known that Viserys. And Dany is starting to think she never will again.

'He's my brother,' she begins. 'I… I would be home. I would be queen, just like my mother. He says he'll give it all back to us.'

Jon bites his lip frustratedly, his cheeks flushing once more. 'But would you want to be his _wife?_ To have to… do the things wives do? With him?'

Jon's not overly comfortable talking about the things grown men and women do in their bedchambers. Her stories of the pleasure houses in Braavos and the things she heard one of the magisters doing with his women always make his face go red and his eyes fix on the ground. Apparently also it's a constant source of teasing from Theon Greyjoy, as the older boy loves to talk about these sorts of things.

'It's- it's what we're supposed to do,' Dany stutters. 'That's what all husbands and wives do, isn't it? And that way we'll-'

'Dany,' Jon snaps. 'You're not _listening._ He shouts at you _all_ the time-'

'No, he doesn't-'

'And he's always calling you names and saying you're going to wake the dragon even when you haven't done anything wrong, not really, and-'

'He's my _brother,'_ Dany says hotly. 'You wouldn't say these things about Robb-'

'Because Robb never says awful things to me!'

'What about Sansa?' she shoots back in a moment of blind anger, forgetting any courtesies she might usually remember. 'She's your sister and you love her, but she isn't always nice to you!'

Jon's face has morphed into a full on scowl now. 'That's different. You don't understand that.'

She can tell she has hurt him, but he has hurt her too. He isn't _listening_. 'And you don't understand Vis! He keeps me safe and he is all I have left. Things are more difficult than ever. You don't know what we have to do now Ser Willem is gone. You don't _know.'_

She thinks about all the nights spent using her own folded arms as a pillow, shivering in Braavosi alleyways and being told by Viserys to stop crying or else neither of them would get any sleep, of how she feared every figure that passed them by and the blades they might be hiding. She doesn't like telling Jon about those parts. She doesn't like even thinking about them.

She pictures how her mother's dulled crown still glimmered that day, when Vis handed it over and gave her a look that said that she wasn't to speak out of turn for the rest of the day. Or ever again.

'I've always had Vis,' she says, despite the burn in her throat and the voice in her head that reminds her that the brother she has now is not the same Vis. 'It will be the same when we marry. Besides, what would I do if I didn't wed him? Girls have to marry strangers all the time in Westeros, don't they?'

That could be far worse than marrying Viserys. At least she knows her brother, and she more or less knows how to keep from angering him. The thought of marrying strangers is a cold one, for picturing them only brings back images of all the people who walked on by the two starving siblings- or worse, the people out there hunting them down.

A husband wouldn't do those things to her. But she fears it nonetheless.

Jon is quiet. Their small argument must still be playing in his mind, but the angry look on his face is gone, thankfully.

'Sometimes people get to marry into families they know,' he says eventually. 'Some of the lords bring their daughters when they come to visit Winterfell. Robb says Father told him it's because the lords are hoping for a betrothal. Robb will be Warden of the North one day, so there are many who want their daughters marrying into the Stark household. We get to play with them sometimes- or Robb does, anyway. I'm not really meant to- well, you know. But Arya stays with me, so it's fine.'

Of all of Jon's family, Dany thinks she wants to meet Arya the most one day, after Jon himself. She has always liked Robb too, although she can't understand how he can be friends with the likes of Theon Greyjoy. She was once fond of Sansa as well, but it's gotten harder to be so as of late, since she learnt of Lady Stark's influence over her daughter and the young girl's subsequent coldness towards Jon. She supposes she understands why Jon still chooses to defend his sister, however. It's just the sort of person he is, and besides- she feels the same way about her own brother.

She just wishes Jon could see it.

'But I don't _know_ any families in Westeros,' she says. 'Except yours, anyway, but I've never met them. Still, I'd much prefer your family to… oh, I don't know, all of the others. Especially the bad ones.'

While she knows Jon holds no ill will towards the Baratheons, she at least knows she and House Stark share a common dislike in the Lannisters. Apparently Jon's father doesn't like to talk about them, and the people of Winterfell only really have bad things to say about them- such as how they joined the war late, when there was a clear victorious side, and what the lord of their house did to the Reynes and the Tarbecks long before she was born.

But the lord of House Lannister had once been her father's hand, she knows. Vis even said they had been friends in boyhood, although that had long since died by the time he was born. The Lannisters had betrayed what little trust was left between and her father when Lord Tywin sacked King's Landing and his son had slain the king.

Jon has gone quiet again, which is strange. She would have thought the idea of her marrying into House Stark would be something to enjoy, impossible as it would be. After all, they might actually come one step closer to reaching that wonderful dream they once thought to be their future.

'Imagine if we married,' Dany says, smiling as the thought occurs to her. Jon would be the best person in the world for her to wed. He's her best friend, after all, and surely that would make things much easier for the both of them as a grown man and woman.

And there it is again, that flush of red in Jon's cheeks that Dany can't help but giggle at. He stares at her with wide eyes, almost horror stricken, and she wonders if she should take offence at how mortified he looks.

It would be easy to love Jon, she thinks. She does already, even if it's not quite the way husbands and wives are supposed to do it. She still doesn't truly _understand_ how it is they do it.

'U- _us?'_ Jon splutters.

'And we could live at Winterfell, or in Braavos,' Dany continues, although already the dream is tainted with disappointment. It's a sweet one, but impossible. 'Or we could travel around a lot. We could visit Robb and your father all the time. I bet Arya would want to come with us. She'd follow you all over the place if she didn't. Oh! We could sail past Valyria, and mayhaps go to Dragonstone too, once Vis takes it back. We could find out more about Daenys that way, and-'

'We can't,' Jon says. 'It's not going to happen.'

'I _know_ that,' Dany huffs. 'It's just nice to _think_ about. I like it, anyway.' She wonders why Jon is giving her that serious look, like the mere suggestion is outrageous. Is that thought of marrying her really so awful? Surely she is his best friend, as much is he is hers?

'You're the one who doesn't want me to marry Viserys,' she points out, trying not to feel hurt- and ignoring a small part of her that wonders if she too might not want to do so. 'Besides, it's all pretend. I'm just saying, if I weren't to marry him, you and I could wed instead. I think it would be nice.'

'Nobody would let us marry,' Jon says, still frowning. 'I'm baseborn. You wouldn't be marrying into a noble house, not really.'

Dany is not going to let Jon dampen her spirits. After the last few years of awful nightmares, she believes she should be allowed to picture something far nicer than the thought of the Usurper's assassins finding her. 'Well, I could marry Robb, then. And we would all live at Winterfell together.'

She feels as if she almost knows Robb, which is still far better than marrying a stranger. And none of it matters anyway, because none of it is ever going to happen.

Nevertheless, Jon seems even more wound up. His whole face is red now, and Dany wonders how in seven hells she managed to make him angry _again._ Perhaps marriage between them wouldn't be so easy after all.

'You- you can't marry Robb,' he says, a strange fierceness in his voice.

'I'm not going to.' She feels thoroughly exasperated. Why is Jon being so difficult? 'But would it be so bad if I could? Your brother's going to be Lord of Winterfell someday, like you said, _and_ Warden of the North. And I know Viserys doesn't really like your family, but maybe joining our houses would fix that. And you and I would see each other all the time, even if we can't get married ourselves.'

'But that's not going to happen,' Jon says stonily.

Dany rolls her eyes. 'Exactly. That's what I've been trying to say.' As clever as it would be to marry someone who will one day hold so much power and responsibility, Dany knows her fate lies with her brother. Perhaps what really angers Jon is the thought that come time for Viserys to take back the Seven Kingdoms, Robb and Lord Stark will side with the Usurper for certain. She can only hope that should it come to battle between her brother and the Starks, the latter will choose to bend the knee to him, just as Torrhen Stark once did to Aegon the Conqueror.

'Robb doesn't even- Robb doesn't even know about you anymore. Not really,' Jon says, and his voice is _still_ so moody. 'Father said we're almost men now, and we've got to stop playing games like children. I'm not supposed to talk about the dreams.'

Dany frowns. 'Why not? This isn't a game. This is _real.'_

Jon shakes his head. 'I don't think Robb thinks so anymore. We never really talk about you together, anyway. I still pretend you're there with Arya sometimes, and she can say your name now and talk properly and everything- but Robb's always with Father, so he'll learn how to be a lord, and when he's not doing that we're just training. And Theon's been saying you're make believe for years-'

'Theon Greyjoy,' Dany says, 'is an _idiot.'_

Finally, Jon smiles. 'What I mean is, Robb hasn't asked about you in a while. And I learnt a long time ago that people like Theon just make fun of me if I talk about you. They all- they all don't understand.'

'They will,' Dany says. 'Even if we don't live together, we'll still see each other one day. And just think! Once Viserys is king and we don't have to keep secrets anymore, you and I could visit Old Town or look in every great library across the Seven Kingdoms to find out all about Daenys and her dreams, and Aegon and Visenya and Rhaenys-'

Jon's temperament has improved tremendously, even if Dany does have to pretend she didn't see the wince he made at the prospect of her brother becoming king some day. 'You said you wanted to sail to Valyria, but you _do_ know we can't visit it properly, right?'

'Of course,' Dany scoffs. 'I said we should sail _past_ it. I don't want greyscale, thank you very much.'

The two laugh and continue to make their plans, and it's as if the earlier argument never happened. Dany still privately wonders precisely what could have upset Jon so, but she decides talk of marriage must make him as uncomfortable as that of making love- that and his status, for Jon believes there isn't much for him in the future. It's a shame really, because Dany can think of plenty of great plans for the both of them.

After a while, Jon is once again attempting to pronounce _zaldrīzes,_ and after a few more attempts he finally makes some decent progress. Dany's heart swells with pride, and she immediately begins to think of all the new words she can teach him. It takes her a few more minutes of him repeating _zaldrīzes,_ until it sounds almost flawless, for her to think of the perfect word.

She grins and points at her chest. _'Zaldrīzes.'_

He stares at her as she then points at him. _'Zokla.'_

 _'Zokla?'_ He pronounces it correctly on his first try, which seems rather fitting. 'What does that mean?'

She points once more at herself, then to him again. 'Dragon,' she says, 'and wolf.'

* * *

 **My personal blog, for queries and for ranting at me about whatever dick move I've pulled this time: _rezeren . tumblr . com_**

 **My multifandom blog for literally the same shit: _spookyscarywhitewalkers . tumblr . com_**

 **My GoT blog: _jonathansnowflake . tumblr . com_**

 **I actually made art while I was gone. I mean, I made _a lot_ of art, but one posted piece was actually relevant to this and is under my a dream of dragons tag on my GoT blog if anyone wants to see it. There may be more too cuz I don't see enough art of little Jon and/or little Dany and that is just a crime.**

 **I was meant to post this chapter _before_ the premiere, so sorry it's a few hours (and several months) late. I have seen it, but honestly I've been awake for well over 24 hours and have seen enough of the Discourse** **already since it aired and I'd like to get some sleep, make a few lil wholesome edits and maybe even some drawings before I even attempt to try discussing it. Personally, I loved it. But like I said, so not getting into it now. Tumblr is a hellhole. We been knew, I know. I just wanna sleep lmao.**

 **Hope y'all enjoted it tho! And if you haven't seen it yet, I hope you do!**

 **Okay so some important stuff that I'm worried might get lost in translation:**

 **1) I am _not_ comparing Sansa to Viserys. I am writing from the perspective of a young abused kid who genuinely believes that her situation with her absolute wankstain of a brother is somewhat similar to what Jon is going through with Sansa because although she can see his cruelty, she is unable to fully recognise just how unjust and impactful it is.**

 **2) Jon is super moody here because a) he's Jon Snow,** **and** **b) he's got a bit of an inferiority complex at the best of times but when he hears his best friend/childhood crush (not that he's really aware of that part but let's be real here) talking about marriage without restrictions so** **freely** **, it reminds him of his status in the world and how it can never be that simple** **for him** **, and when he hears her casually mentioning the idea of marrying his _brother,_ someone he's already incredibly jealous of for obvious reasons, it's gonna tick him off a bit lol. Poor kid. Both of them are oblivious little muffins and I love them. There's also c) he's already being affected by Ned's restrictions from the end of the previous chapter, and that's also upsetting him just a bit. More on that with his POV tho.**

 **3) Maroquo Hotoyor is, to my knowledge, not a real character in ASOIAF. I just love that there's a subsection in a fantasy name generator for Game of Thrones, and an even smaller subsection for Essosi names lmao. _Zaldrīzes_ and _Zokla,_ however, do very much mean _dragon_ and _wolf_ in High Valyrian, so I had a bit of fun with that.**

 **4) Uh yeah I obviously hate Viserys's guts but don't want him to be too one dimensional. Hopefully that's still coming across through Dany's POV, as she still does love her brother very much. But he's past the point of selling their mother's crown now, so he's on his way to graduating** **to** **grade A douchecanoe.**

 **5) God, writing Dany's time in the Free Cities is tricky. I even aged them up throughout the chapter to help get it out of my system** **, tho it was mostly cuz I kept writing about earlier stuff so I'm not sure that counts** **. I really wanna get to the main events** **soon** **. To anyone still unclear, I've left Dany on the verge of 9 here which make Jon that age. I'm not sure how many months older he is but it's not a full year**

 **6) Sorry if I'm sounding a tad on edge. I am just so so tired and I'm sure many of y'all know what this fandom can be like. I'm so glad the show's back but holy hell is there gonna be some drama over the next few weeks. I've been tired several months in advance.**

 **Anyway if anyone wants me to make any edits or anything feel free to drop by my blogs and ask cuz I'm in a graphicy mood rn and some gifsets will probably come along soon if I get enough sleep lmao.**

 **Sorry for the novel at the end of the actual sodding chapter as always lmao.**

 **Thanks for reading, and remember to review!**


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